Fallout: Murder City
by ougabouga
Summary: An original tale set in the Fallout universe in the area around Detroit. The annexation of Canada unleashed a bloody insurgency in the Detroit-Windsor area. It is 100 years after the Great War. Remnants of the American and Canadian armies continue to wage war. A merc with a sterling reputation takes a job, unaware this is a job unlike any other.
1. Prologue

Prolgue

"Man, if we get outta this thing, I want you to come to the States. I'll show you some stuff that you'll never believe."

"No way, my friend. I'm told in the States they shoot Communists in the streets."

"Hell, man. In Detroit, my hometown, they shoot EVERYBODY in the streets!"

-A Pre War movie.

_War. War never changes. Only the tools changed. The ferocity, the strategies remained unchanged after millennia's. Nowhere was this more apparent than in the area of Detroit. Over two centuries before the Great War, a war was fought there between two young nations. A stalemate resulted and eventually peace flourished between these two nations. Enmity turned to amity, and predictably back to enmity. The United States annexed Canada, two and a half centuries after their first attempt. This annexation was not accomplished without reply. Units of the Canadian Forces refused to submit to the American annexation. Open insurrection ensued and blood was spilled. Nowhere was this struggle more violent than in Detroit, where the border was but an imaginary line. Much blood was spilled as neighbors, friends became deadly enemies. The Great War covered the land like a shroud and silenced reigned. For a time. _


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The cold wind blew bitterly, carrying with it uncounted particles of debris. The fall's frost covered the land with a thin, pristine white coating. It was an insult to the devastation that littered the land. Everywhere destruction and devastation stood. Buildings that had once touched the sky now stood disemboweled and dismembered. Many of these had collapsed or burned down, causing further destruction. Houses that had once housed families happy and sad alike housed little other than cockroaches and other insects. Detroit. The Motor City. Motown. A city that produced wonders of music and technology now produced little other than suffering. 100 years after the Great War, life, as fragile as it is precious, was slowly, precariously staking a claim on the land.

A lone figure walked alone, between rows of incinerated cars. It moved with calculated strides, with feline grace and precision. It never lingered in one spot for more than a few instants. It always moved smartly, never straying beyond cover for anything longer than fractions of a second. It was not quite dawn. It was best to move at this time. Those who roamed the nights tended to retire at this time. Those who roamed the day weren't quite awake.

The figure wore boots, leather pants, jacket, face wrap and night vision goggles. The figure was outfitted completely in grey. When the snow fell, it was soon covered by ashes or other debris. Dressing in white would be a dead giveaway. The figure wielded a modified Kalashnikov, slung over the shoulder and a sheathed combat knife.

The figure stopped at a street corner, its destination just a few miles away. The last part of its journey would be the most hazardous. There was little to no cover the rest of the way. It crouched and scanned the horizon and surroundings, looking for traces of life, human or otherwise. No heat blooms, no footprints, no recently upturned debris. There were a handful of torched cars and incinerated homes. But there was no movement. The figure searched and its eyes found a ditch alongside the road that led to its destination. It stepped beyond the cover and crawled towards the ditch, a few meters away.

"Don't move!" A hoarse voice, behind and above her, warned. The figure said nothing.

"It's alright, boys. Come on out, we got ourselves a live one."

Armed Ghouls appeared from out behind various places of cover, and nearby homes. They surrounded the figure, prone on the ground, immobile.

"Get up. Slowly. Keep your arms where we can see him."

The figure slowly stood up, spreading out its arms. The figure cautiously looked around, seeing 6 ghouls. Two were armed with Kalashnikovs, 2 with Lee Enfield rifles and the last two with laser rifles. The leader wore a red toque on its head but otherwise the ghouls were dressed wearing only light autumn clothes. His laser rifle was slung over his shoulder and he wore a 9mm pistol on a holster.

"Get his gun."

A ghoul stepped behind the figure, cut the gun's strap with a knife and retrieved it. It also retrieved the figure's knife.

"That's the problem with these goggles. They only detect body heat." The Ghoul leader said as he seized the figure's goggles.

A pair of light blue eyes stared coldly at the ghoul.

"Wait a minute..." The leader said and began undoing the figure's face wrap.

There were exclamations of surprise and joy when the unwrapped revealed a young, feminine face. It stared at them with eyes as cold, calculating and fearless as that of a wolf's. Her eyes were constantly moving, anticipating, planning. Her blonde hair was kept short, her face was young though it bore scars that evidenced an uneasy life to this point.

"Hey boys! Ain't she pretty?" The leader said.

"She's a real sight for sore bones!" Said another.

"I think we got ourselves some entertainment!" Another exclaimed.

"Alright. We'll chain her up. I get first dibs!" The leader announced.

"Hey, fuck you, man. You always go first! We always get the sloppy seconds." A ghoul standing behind the woman said.

"That's because I'm the leader fuck face. You got a problem with that?" The leader shot back, levelling a deathly gaze at his insubordinate underling.

"Yeah I do, actually. How long have you been in charge? Six months and you ain't done shit! You couldn't lead your asshole to a toilet bowl." The rebellious ghoul said. "I think it's time to share the wealth more, a change in leadership. What do you think guys?"

There were four nods of agreement.

"You fucking pricks. I'm gonna teach..." The leader scowled and was about to excoriate his underlings when the girl struck. She punched the ghoul leader in his throat, she grabbed a pistol from his belt, and then used his shoulders to leap over him. Using his body as a shield she fired a quick burst at a ghoul, ending his existence, then whirled sideways, firing another burst at a ghoul struggling to aim his rifle. Two down, four to go.

Using the leader's body as a shield she ran forward, smashing his body into another ghoul's and knocking him to the ground. She spun around, still holding onto the lead ghoul as his body absorbed a few laser and bullet rounds. She fired a few bullets into the ghoul who'd been knocked on the ground. Two to go.

She leapt behind a car as bullets ricocheted around her, letting go of the ghoul leader's body. She heard their angry cries, allowing her to divine their position.

"Goddamn it! Flank her! I said flank her!"

"Fuck you! I'm in charge now!"

A burst of automatic fire ensued but no bullets ricocheted near her. She peeked beyond cover and fired a burst at a ghoul who hadn't taken cover. She ducked behind the car as he stopped moving. She unloaded the pistol's magazine. She counted two bullets without emotion. She heard gun fire emanating from one direction. She crawled in the opposite direction. The gun was being poorly aimed, shots being spread wildly. As she peeked around the corner of the destroyed car she saw the last ghoul, taking shelter behind a bench. He was concentrating his fire on one location, oblivious to the fact that she'd moved. She continued to crawl towards him; the bench was providing decent cover. She continued to crawl until she was nearly perpendicular to his position. He emptied another magazine. As he reloaded she fired the last two bullets, decapitating the ghoul.

The girl stood and collected her things, replacing her face wrap and goggles. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. She looted the ghouls, knowing their weapons would prove profitable. She used a roll of duct tape from her pockets and rolled all their weapons together. She strapped the bundle onto her back. Scanning the horizon she slid into the ditch and crawled to her destination. She crawled a further two miles until she came to a large, undamaged road sign.

"Welcome to Fort Malden."

She emerged from the ditch and walked towards the gate. Before her was a large army base, stretching for five miles in either direction. Walls were twenty feet tall. Sentry towers every 50 feet. The towers were adorned with searchlights and sentry turrets. Mr. Gutsy's and Sentry Bots patrolled the perimeter. Any other approach to the base was heavily mined. She spread her arms and opened her palms as one of the Mr. Gutsy's spotted her.

"Identify yourself and your purpose or I'll fry your commie ass!"

"Erica Bronson. I have a meeting with Major Belanger."

"Standby." She stood and waited a few moments until she was given the all clear. The steel gates opened and she stepped into the base of the Princess Patricia's Light Infantry Regiment.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A couple of armed guards stood before her at the guard post.

"You'll have to disarm. Your weapons will be returned."

"Fine. This bundle is for trade. Where's your quartermaster?"

" Private O'Shea will take you there after you see the Major."

"I'll see the Major after I see the Quartermaster." She stared hard at the Corporal.

"Fine." She shrugged.

Erica followed Private O'Shea. Past the guard post they were in a vast courtyard. Dozens of cook fires were ablaze. Animal carcasses were being roasted on spits. She saw one that was roasting one half of a 6 foot polar bear carcass, a cub. Further away soldiers were being drilled.

"How are you guys managing?" She asked.

Private O'Shea said nothing.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

He said nothing.

"Why not?"

His silence continued. Erica chuckled, some of these grunts made themselves such easy targets.

* * *

They entered a rectangular building that stood five stories tall. Erica sighed as the heat soothed her. They were managing well enough to have their heating system running. She followed him, keeping track of each turn they took, absorbing every detail of the corridors, the doors, the rooms her eyes could see. It was impossible for her to be unobservant; she hadn't survived all these years out in the wastes by closing her eyes and shutting off her senses.

The Quartermaster's office was located in the deep basement of the facility, down six flights of stairs and more than a few blast doors. The walls were reinforced steel, the window shutters she'd seen were radioactive resistant. It was easy to see how the soldiers had survived the war.

The Quartermaster sat at a desk, typing in at a computer. Behind him was an active force field and a Protectron, guarding the armory.

"What can I do for you, private?"

"Sir, this civilian wishes to trade."

"Excellent. We haven't had too many traders lately. What do you have?"

Erica unloaded her bundle. The Quartermaster unrolled the duct tape and looked through the mass of weapons. She inspected each one, looking at its condition, disassembling it.

"Right. This rifle here hasn't been greased in a while so the bolt jams frequently and it's also damaged the blot, so that has to be replaced. This other rifle's sight's been damaged. That's gonna be a pain in the ass to fix. The laser rifles are okay, standard wear and tear. The Kalashnikov's are in decent condition but we've got tons of those. The pistol isn't worth much. I'll give you 350 caps for the whole deal. "

"350 lousy caps? You've got to be shitting me."

"If our purse strings weren't so tight, I'd give you 7 or 800. I'm sorry, I can't go over 350 for this pile. Take it or leave it."

Erica sighed. What choice did she have, hauling that bundle all the way back to Belle Isle?

"Anything you wish to purchase?"

Erica bought some Fission Batteries and some 5.56 mm ammo. A lousy profit of 250 caps, hardly seemed worth the effort.

They walked up the stairs back to the ground floor. Down a few more hallways before they came to the parade square. A couple thousand people could fit in here, if they didn't mind personal space being violated. On the wall she saw a list of dates and names. Old World battle honours of places she'd never heard of: Ypres, Somme, Passchendale, Vimy, Sicily, Hitler Line, Gothic Line, Kapyong, Afghanistan. The last names caught her attention for she knew them well: Windsor, Detroit. The wall was adorned with plaques, trophy cases holding medals, pictures of honoured dead, flags and other sacred items she had no reverence for.

Past the parade square she was led into a hallway containing various offices. She noted the names and ranks on each of the doors until she came to a door plated: Major Alexandre Belanger. The private knocked on the door.

"Enter."

The private entered and snapped to attention. "Sir. I have the civilian."

"Thank you, private. Close the door and have Private Latendresse brought up from the brig. Then both of you wait outside."

"Yes, sir."

Erica sat down facing him. The walls of his office were decorated with various pictures and plaques. Directly behind him was a framed Canadian Flag in flawless condition. Erica guessed the Major was in his mid forties, he was rather nondescript in his appearance, as indistinctive as most of the grunts under his command.

"Thank you for coming. Can I get you some coffee?"

"I like my coffee black." Erica nodded.

The Major stood up and poured two cups. She inhaled her cup deeply before drinking. The sweet smell of coffee, the only thing more refreshing was the taste. This was real, pre-war coffee. Like all pre-war casual luxuries it was worth its weight in gold.

"You came highly recommended. We need you to perform a job for us. Dangerous, risky but one you're quite qualified to do."

"What's the pay?"

"1,000 caps in advance. 3,000 upon completion."

"I thought you were having money problems."

"We are. But if you complete this job, we won't be."

A Hail Mary throw.

"Okay. What's the job?"

"You're aware that Pre-War many of the companies here built factories underground to survive? Most of the above ground factories and their headquarters were hit directly, annihilating them. This left the location of these factories hidden. Over the years we've detected various underground structures but have been unable to find entry points. We've found a possible location for one."

The Major passed her a map.

"Palmer Park? Why there? It's crawling with bears and deathclaws. Everyone knows there's a bunker with a steel door there, only no one's ever opened it."

"But everyone assumes it's connected to Vault 56, the one that suffered a cave in after the war. We've discovered otherwise."

"Okay. Once I get to this door, how do I get in?"

"You'll be accompanied by Private Latendresse. He'll know how to get in."

"What if he doesn't make it? What about the bears and deathclaws?"

He stared at her darkly. "If neither of you attract attention, you won't have that problem."

"Fine. Once we're in, then what?"

"Explore and inspect the facility. Determine whether it's in working order. Then come back. Alive and quiet."

"Okay. I'll take it. When do we leave?"

"ASAP. Go to the Quartermaster's if you need anything. Latendresses should be outside."

The Major handed her a bag of caps.

"Private O'Shea?"

The door opened. Private O'Shea was there.

"Is Private Latendresse outside?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, bring him in."

Private Latendresse was the c complete opposite of what she'd expected. He was tall and rather fit and handsome but unshaven and dishevelled, his hazelnut eyes lined with dark circles. His boots were full of scuff marks, she noted a private's chevron's on his uniform but saw stitch marks extending beyond the single chevron.

* * *

An hour later Erica set off with Private Latendresse. He was wearing civilian clothes. She'd been given extra rations of food and other supplies. There was certain brilliance to this plan. The past summer had been harsher then past summers. It had hardly rained, causing draughts in areas further away from the lakes and rivers. But even places like Belle Isle had been affected, having to siphon off water from the Detroit River to sustain themselves. Everyone knew harsh summers meant harsh winters. It was mid September and winter was a few weeks away at the most, everyone would be getting ready to batten down the hatches to survive the winter, no one was thinking about risky operations.

They walked northwards. Not long after they set off they came past the site of Erica's ambush. Latendresse looked at the bodies but otherwise continued on unconcerned. They spoke little but they moved cautiously, observantly. It was like he wasn't there. Erica was happy for that. She liked being on her own. Having a travel companion always entailed complications. Having to slow down for someone, deal with another person's needs and problems. Plus there were the personal things she couldn't abide. They wanted to talk and she almost always had to deal with some kind of unwanted sexual attention from the other.

They walked for the rest of the day. They stuck to cover and avoided any contact with people. Due to the draught, anyone wandering in the open was likely to be armed and hungry. It was going to be a rough winter, many would die and all would suffer privations.

At dusk they found an abandoned house to take shelter. It was a two storey house, the roof was still mostly intact and three of the walls were still standing. Despite its relatively pristine condition the house showed no signs of previous occupation. But there was no obvious way to get to the second storey; the stairwell had long ago crumbled.

"We need to get up there." The private said, for the first time talking to her. He had a thick French Canadian accent and a quiet, if authoritative tone. He unslung his rifle and dropped his rucksack. Opening a pocket he retrieved some rope. Fashioning a knot he tossed the rope, hoping it would latch onto a protruding support beam.

"Do we need to?" Erica was more worried about the inconvenience.

"Yes. Unless you want to be wolf meat."

Erica said nothing further as he tied the rope. Climbing up was easy for both of them. There wasn't much left of the second floor. Where they were standing was the only remaining part of the second floor. There was enough room for them to sleep comfortably, but little else.

"Get cooking. I'll look around." Private Latendresse said, removing some binoculars from his pack. Although he was supposed to be a civilian, he was pretty heavily loaded for one. She couldn't identify half of the things loaded into his pack.

Erica unhooked her rucksack. She pulled out a fission battery. Using her knife she uncorked the top. Placing the battery on the ground she placed a packet of MRE on top. The MRE quickly bubbled to life as the food molecules inside it expanded. Within a few minutes the pack was fully expanded. She removed it and replaced it with another MRE packet. She retrieved a spork from her meal kit and dove into the tasty, filling ration. This was much better than leftover pre-war food. Latendresse came back just in time for his MRE to finish cooking.

"Anything interesting?"

"No."

"We used my MREs. How about we use your Radaway?"

"Sure."

Erica felt satisfied and healthy after eating her MRE pack and giving herself a shot of Radaway. She took a strip of duct tape and covered the fission battery's top. These batteries were worth their weight in gold when winter came. It could be used to cook and defrost food, provide heating, serve as an igniting agent and other uses limited only by a person's imagination. The sun was setting quickly.

"I'll take first watch. You get some sleep. I'll wake you up in four hours." Latendresse readied his night vision goggles and rifle.

Erica slid into her bedroll. Under the warm covers she stripped and put on her sleeping clothes. Her dirty clothes she hung on the posts of the broken bed. She noted with relief that the private was ignoring her. She covered herself and quickly drifted off to sleep.

She awoke a few hours later, though she wasn't awakened by the private. Rather, she was awakened by the sound of howling wolves. She shot upright and swore. Fumbling in the pitch dark, she reached for her goggles and her Kalashnikov. She fought the urge to shiver as she ambled out of her bedroll, wearing only undergarments.

"What's up?" She asked the private, he was standing, rifle at the ready but resting on a ledge, his eyes scanned around them.

"There's pack of wolves, about 15 of them. They found us about a half hour ago. I thought they would lose interest in us. They haven't."

She scanned around and could see the wolves. Pre-War wolves hadn't been much a cause of concern. But 100 years after the Great War, the wolves had grown in size; they resembled their prehistoric ancestors, the Direwolves. They were pacing around the house, circling their prey, knowing it was trapped.

"Wolf hide will get us a lot of caps." Erica said, readying her gun.

"I'll cover this side of the building. You cover the other side. I'll shoot one to see if that will scare them."

"That won't work. We'll have to kill a few to scare them."

The Private aimed down his sight and fired two shots. One of the wolves was felled. It's companions barely noticed its passing, they continued to circle the house, growling and smiling with hungry fangs.

"I told ya." Erica chided before opening fire. A burst tore into a female wolf, ripping it to shreds. Now the wolves did react. But not on the way they'd intended. The wolves became more aggressive. Rather than circling, they began to charge at the house, trying to find a way to reach them. Both of them opened fire. Latendresse with accurate, methodical shots. Erica with spraying automatic fire. One by one the wolves fell, a few came perilously close to reaching their perch, but the height advantage was decisive and 10 wolves were killed before the remainder retreated.

"Shit." Erica swore, counting her mags. "I used up three mags."

"I only used up one." Latendresse said.

"Whatever you do, don't brag."

"I'm not. You have to be disciplined to survive. You were firing like some psychotic drug fiend. Most of your shots missed."

"Fuck you! I've survived just fine on my own without any of your fancy schmansy training or discipline bullshit! And that training is really handy when you're massacring civilians and not d-..."

Her rant was interrupted as Latendresse slapped her face. The blow stung her and for a moment she didn't know how to respond. Then she leapt up and tried to punch him. Latendresse deflected her blow, grabbing her arm he was about to trip her, but Erica knew that move. With her free arm she hit his elbow. He groaned but otherwise held firm. He hit her throat next, she stumbled, he threw himself at her and they fell together, off their perch and onto the ground. They fell with a loud crash, scattering debris all around them. Both of them groaned and grunted in pain. Their ire forgotten for a time as they assessed their wounds.

"You fucking prick!" Erica shouted, favoring her leg.

"What?" The Private sounded somewhat contrite as he stood.

"It's broken."

The Private said nothing but he set to work. He felt her leg, his fingers probed and massaged her legs, feeling for where the break was. Erica dryly noted to herself this could be mistaken for a romantic encounter, given she was still in her sleeping clothes. The Private found some broken pieces of wood, using duct tape he fashioned a brace for her leg. He climbed back up to their perch. He returned carrying her things. But it was his fault her leg was broken. This was nothing more than using a band aid to cover up a dozen bullet holes.

"Change. We need to get going soon."

"Wonderful." She sighed angrily, struggling to put her clothes back on. Latendresse waited until she was fully clothed before he swung back down, carrying all his gear.

"I'll carry your gear." He offered.

"Fuck off."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Erica's injury meant a significant detour, to a place the Private would rather avoid, the scene of the great crime: Belle Isle. But it was the only place with the expertise to heal her. They made their way north to the Isle slowly, painfully. Private Latendresse was alert, always scanning the horizon. He didn't bother asking if she wanted his help, he knew what her answer would be. Erica was hobbling along, still carrying her own gear. Latendresse took more furtive steps as they neared the bridge to Belle Isle, dread and guilt impeding his progress. The outskirts of Belle Isle were easy to mark out. The ground turned form ashen grey to a dull green, and finally to something more lush. Where once abandoned houses lay, now stood occupied ones.

They attracted little attention as they walked towards the Belle Isle Bridge, it wasn't rare to see wounded coming to the Isle for treatment. There was a sign that said "All are welcome to Belle Isle." Spray painted below it was "Except PPCLI murders." Erica noted Latendresse's head snapped when he read the sign. Next to the sign was a flag, a blue ensign with the number 45 inscribed in white upon it. Surrounding the 45 was a circle of white doves.

Vault 45 had been another of Vaultec's experiments. Half of its population consisted of protestors, communists, peace activists and other "subversives" that had been rounded up in the days before the war and sent to this Vault. The other half had consisted of hardened criminals. The Vault was considered a way of killing two birds with one stone. It was assumed the Vault dwellers would kill themselves off, or only the more violent would survive. It didn't quite work out as originally planned. After some violence, they came to cohabitate peacefully. They were blessed by unplanned circumstances in other ways: they were given a G.E.C.K. as a result of a clerical error.

Before the bridge was a checkpoint attended by a couple of armed guards. While the descendants of Vault 45 were pacifists, they weren't afraid to defend themselves, violently if necessary.

"Hand in your weapons." The two travellers complied. They each received a numbered ticket.

"What's your purpose?" One of the guards asked.

"My friend needs medical help."

"I'm not his friend!"

The guard looked at the Private with searching eyes.

"You're a frenchy. You're not one of them PPCLI scum are you?"

"No. I was but they kicked me out years ago."

"Why?"

"I assaulted my CO 'cause he was a _crisse de calvaire_."

The guard turned to Erica.

"If he's not your friend, why are you travelling with him?"

"I fell and broke my leg, he found and helped me, but he's been making passes at me."

"Fuck you I haven't!"

"Yes you have you lying prick!"

"I'd rather pay for it!"

"The way you look, that's the only way you'll ever get any!"

"Are you sure you two aren't married?" The Guard chuckled.

Both shot him a deadly glare. The guard ignored their staring. It was rare to find anything work joking about these days.

"50 Cap customs fee each."

They paid.

"Alright, you're free to go on in." He turned to Latendresse. "Any funny stuff and you're getting the boot. Comprende senor?"

The Private nodded. Crossing the bridge they were serenaded with Pre-War music coming from speakers hoisted upon telephone poles, Motown it was called. Latendresse didn't care for it but Erica quite enjoyed it, one of the few luxuries in the Murder City. Belle Isle was a place of rare luxuries, its status as an island, as a Vault equipped with a G.E.C.K., a place with fertile land; it was one of the few refugees of stability in the Murder City. It was a place where all were welcome, so long as one was disarmed, where disputes could be resolved peacefully, if anyone desired it so. Its services were offered to all, for a fee, regardless of one's status or tribal affiliation.

"I can find my way to the Medical Clinic." Erica said, making it clear she wanted to be done with Latendresse.

"We're in this together."

Erica sighed. She was regretting taking the mission. It had barely started and already she had a broken leg and was up to her neck in aggravation. Still, she needed the caps. Surviving the winter without them would be difficult.

The pathways of Belle Isle buzzed with activity. There were shops and trader shacks selling everything from clothing to food to survival equipment. While this was an isle of relative luxury, there were few trinkets or frivolities for sale, survival was still too precarious. Down a few dusty streets was Belle Isle's main attraction: The Four Tops, a casino, bar and brothel. Directly across from The Four Tops in an old church building was the Foundationist Church, a new religion, one of many of the Apocalypse's progeny.

They didn't have to wait long to be seen. Latendresse hovered awkwardly as Erica was examined by one of the nurses.

"It's not a severe break. Your friend did very well by fashioning a crutch for you. We can wrap it in a bark cast and you should be okay in two weeks."

Erica and Latendresse looked at another.

"We don't have two weeks." Latendresse said.

The nurse sighed. "Everyone's always in a hurry. I can't imagine what's so important that you have to risk your life when winter's coming. But we do have something, it's Pre-War tech but it'll cost you extra."

"How much?" Latendresse asked.

"600 Caps."

"Fine." Latendresse sighed, fetching the caps from his rucksack. Already they were running out of caps.

Erica was fitted with a brace that wrapped around her wounded leg. The brace was grey and made of leather. Its interior surface was lined with small circular openings that resembled suction cups. Attached to the brace was a short cord with a rectangular enclosure.

"Do you have a fission battery?"

Erica nodded and fetched one from her pack. The Nurse took the battery and then slid the battery into the slot. Erica felt the brace hum.

"This is the on-switch. A battery will last you for about 4 or 5 hours. We're not quite sure how it works, but it'll let you walk, not quite 100% mobility, but it should be enough for whatever you're doing. Try it."

Erica flicked the switch. Her leg jolted and she felt it pulsating with power, like a billion currents of electricity were pulsating through her veins.

"Try to stand up."

Erica rose and found herself standing without discomfort. She took a step forward and found her wounded leg was restored to mobility. She flexed her knees and took a few more steps. A smile cracked her otherwise stoic lips.

"How does it work?"

"We're not totally sure. We know it transmits electrical currents to your body, somehow it converts electricity to temporarily strengthening your bone structure. It doesn't restore you to full mobility, any running or jumping or strenuous physical activity is out of the question. But it only works so long as there is power remaining in the battery. Once that runs out, your leg will be just as broken as it was before. It's a temporary remedy; your bones still need to heal naturally."

Their next stop was to a trader's shack where they bought a dozen fission batteries. Erica kept them in her own pack, she didn't want to entrust their care to her companion. t was late afternoon and the sun was already beginning to set.

"Right." Erica said, looking at her travel companion. "I'm off to have some fun. Don't follow me. I'll meet you at the north bridge at 6 AM. "

She didn't wait for his reply and walked off towards the Four Tops. Latendresse looked around. He didn't want to follow her, the less time he spent in her company the better for both of them. It wasn't late enough that he should check himself into the local inn. He started walking, his head down, beginning to lose himself in his thoughts.

He saw himself walking with dozens of others, drunk and laughing merrily. He saw a dozen members of the Red Wings tribe ahead of them suddenly. Shouting and yelling threats. Then he heard the sounds of gunfire, the acrid smell of cordite and gun powder, the sounds of people screaming, begging for mercy, jets of crimson spraying in the air and human gore rolling on the ground. He screamed and found himself before the decayed old-world church. A kindly old man in white robes standing before him, a look of gentle concern on his benevolent face.

"Is something troubling you my son? Do you have something you wish to confess?"

"Yes."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Before allowing herself leisure, Erica stopped buy at one of the trader's shacks. She bought smoke grenades, these always came in handy, along with some more ammunition. She stuffed these into her bag and then went to the Four Tops. The driving, soulful tones of Stevie Wonder soothed Erica's nerves. She would enjoy herself tonight. The Four Tops was not a building of great luxury, though it tried to boast of them. It was an old pre-war hotel. The walls were threadbare, matted with peeling drywall, holes patched with whatever detritus happened to be nearby. Lighting was minimal, provided by candles and flaming barrels, the island had electricity owing to its partially functioning hydro electric dam, the power was largely reserved for other things.

A couple of doormen stood loitering around the lobby. She passed through the doors and sauntered over to the bar. It was what had been a small concert hall. Opposite the bar was a large lighted stage were a dozen dancers, male and female, swaying sensuously. She estimated there were 50 patrons, mostly men, enjoying the show.

"A bottle of Vodka."

"Single or double?"

"I said I wanted a bottle. You have a hearing problem?"

"Fine. 40 Caps."

Erica grabbed the bottle. She uncorked it and swigged, drowning several ounces before ceasing her imbibing. She sighed, nothing like Vodka to soothe away aggravation. She made her way towards the stage, spotting a free chair near a young nubile young girl. She was in the mood for a girl tonight.

"Hey baby, will you dance for me?" A male patron accosted her. She turned to face him. He was a middle aged man, thin, with a thickly bearded face. He was sitting, leaning back, his legs on a table. She walked towards him, a yellow, gap-filled smile appearing on his face.

"What was that?" She asked, touching a free chair next to him.

"I said will you dance for me? I got some nice caps if you do."

"Okay," Erica said, "I'll dance for you."

She grabbed the chair and flung it at him. The chair connected with a loud *thunk* and the blow knocked him on the ground. The man writhed on the ground, clutching his bloodied face. She knelt over him and pried his hands away. His nose was broken and he was missing a few more teeth. He was groaning in pain. Everyone had turned to look at the commotion.

"Want an encore?" She spat and turned around and left him to his agony. She found a nice chair and sipped her Vodka, enjoying the dancer strutting herself before her, ignoring everything else. Later she would play some poker and grab herself a girl. For now, she was content to sit, watch and drink.

* * *

The kindly old priest touched the Private's shoulder and led him inside. Inside was an inaccurate term, the church's walls were filled with holes and the roof had been blown away long ago. Yet the Foundationists didn't believe in repairing the building. There were lit candles throughout the old church, but they flickered and often were extinguished, only to be re-lit by a robed acolyte. Cold winds blew through the church, as if committing a furtive violation. There were a dozen pews, sparsely populated. No more than 10 people were present, sitting or kneeling silently. Whether they were lost in prayer, thought or lamentation Latendresse couldn't begin to guess.

The Priest led him from the building's entrance to the altar. He bade him sit on a wooden chair, facing the nearly vacant congregation. The Priest sat next to him, on a chair more ornate, taller, making the Priest sitting above the Private.

"What do you wish to confess? I can see it weighs heavily upon your conscience, my son."

Latendresse looked around, uncertain of himself. This wasn't what he was expecting.

"Eh, Father?"

"Yes, my son?"

"I don't believe in God."

A thin smile cracked the Priest's lips.

"That does not matter. Great harm has been done my so-called godly men whose actions were ungodly. Beliefs are important, but whether you believe in a God doesn't matter. What matters is what you believe towards your fellow man and yourself."

The private nodded, it resonated deeply with him. But he still doubted.

"I thought confessions were made in private."

"A pre-war custom that only encouraged hypocrisy. Anyone can confess their sins in the safety of a darkened cubicle. A true confession, with a genuine desire for repentance and forgiveness can only be granted in the presence of others. I admit our congregation is small, especially at this late hour; however a quorum exists that you may confess. In reverse, true absolution can only be granted by an audience of the people. One man's forgiveness is easy. The forgiveness of many less so. But nothing worthwhile in life is easily attainable."

Latendresse looked up; he now had a captive audience. Who were these people? They bore no gang colours or tribal markings. They could be nobodies, or they could be people victimized by his crime. Even being locals they might be outraged to hear him confess. They were looking at him with tired, benign eyes. Should he confess would those eyes become hostile? Would they spread the news throughout the town?

He shook his head. He was supposed to regain his commission. Blabbering about the... incident wouldn't help that. It would only make things worse. But how many more nightmares could he endure? Confession was good for the soul, they said.

"I've done something...terrible, unforgivable." He began, feeling a pit deep in his throat, struggling to speak aloud. He swallowed hard and the lump in his throat felt bigger. The priest gently tapped him on his shoulder. A cold breeze blew through the church and for a moment they were plunged into darkness. An acolyte relit the extinguished candles. Despite the light, the room felt stiflingly cold and dark. Latendresse stared straight ahead, down a corridor between two rows of pews. He didn't want to look at someone, afraid it would break his resolve.

"It happened a few weeks ago. It was around here, I was with some... friends. We'd been out in the field for weeks. We lost a few of my friends; we had to blow off some steam. We came here, we turned in... Some of our weapons, we kept our sidearms." The atmosphere palpably changed. Periferally he could see the backs of his audience stiffening, heads turning towards him. But the private knew he couldn't stop now, he had to go through with it, damn the consequences, he had to get this off his chest; it was his only hope of freeing himself from the pangs of guilt. He closed his eyes and continued.

"We got pretty drunk, we had some fun with girls, poker tables, shit like that. After a while we went out. It was dark and cold. We just started walking around, doing stupid shit. We were still feeling angry, pent-up, like I had nails being driven down in my head. Eventually we came across a bunch of Red Wings. They were drunk too. There was 7 of them, 9 of us. One of my friends started yelling at them, insulting them, calling them Dead Wings, Barbeque Wings, stupid shit like that. They yelled back. One of them, a guy who called himself Stevie Y, picked up a rock and threw it at us. It didn't even come close. Someone pulled out a gun and started shooting. We all acted on instinct. When you're in a fight, you hear gunfire and you don't think, you react, because if you think, you die. So we got our guns out and started firing. It was all over in a few seconds. All of them were dead, except one who managed to run away. I can still smell it, the gunfire and the cold air, I hear the yelling and the screaming in my dreams..."

He stopped, unable to saw more. He felt the tension in the room. He ventured to open his eyes, his audience was staring at him with hardened eyes.

"Did you kill anyone?" The priest asked.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't."

"Do you want our forgiveness?"

"Yes."

"My fellow brothers and sisters, what say you. Do you forgive this man who has sinned against us?"

* * *

Erica was looking over the choices for tonight. She was quite tipsy, not wasted, but more than enough to have a nice buzz. She'd won a fair amount of caps at a poker, seen her share of dancers, now she wanted a nice way to cap off the evening before heading out in the morning. The dame of the brothel was showing were the available men and women, most were scrawny-looking, barely attractive. She was in the mood for a woman tonight.

"I want the blonde dancer." Erica said.

"You're not the first to request her. However Natalia doesn't service clients."

"I can pay extra."

"Everyone says that. Few actually can."

"I can."

"500 Caps."

Erica was mulling it over, 500 caps for a lay was too much, even for a girl as good looking as Natalia. But she was tipsy, and alcohol clouds reason. She reached for her caps. There was a loud commotion, a lot of shouting, people running. Erica had a bad feeling about this. She walked away from the brothel towards the main entrance.

"We got one of them PPCLI scum, he went to the church to confess!" Someone shouted.

Erica swore. What a fucking, reckless idiot. She fetched her rucksack at the entrance and went outside, where a large mob had encircled the church. The mob had assembled with shovels, pickaxes and other improvised weapons. She saw Latendress attached to a pole in the front yard. In front of him was a crypt with a chain door. The door was rattling, emanating from it was the bestial growling of feral ghouls, it was just as blood curling as the shouts of the angry, thirsty mob.

"Fuck this." Erica said and turned away.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The mob howled with hundreds of angry voices, thirsty for blood and hungry for flesh. Though they all spoke different words, they all spoke the language of revenge. Weeks ago their sacred sanctuary had been defiled, and now, before them, stood one of the defilers, begging their forgiveness. While their ancestors had sworn away most forms of violence, self-defense had never been absconded, nor had the right to redress wrongs.

Latendresse struggled against his restraints, cursing himself. He wondered, very briefly, if Erica might find a way to save him. Just as quickly as the thought appeared it was dismissed. In front of him was a barred crypt, feral ghouls banging behind iron bars, bars held shut only but the smallest of locks. The crowd stood before him, angry voices, fists in the air. The crowd's ire diminished, a small but pronounced hush washed over the crowd, though their anger diminished not.

The crowd began to part. Latendresse saw a man walking towards him, taller than most of the crowd. He was balding, elderly, though not frail; he walked with poise and confidence. He strode towards Latendresse. Though he'd never seen him before, the private knew who he was. Bernard Appleby, the mayor of Belle Isle. His grandfather had been the original Vault 45 overseer. He seized the younger soldier up with hard hazelnut eyes. The private didn't flinch, he held the old man's gaze. The old man's expression remained unchanged, unreadable. He turned to the crowd.

"My friends!" He began.

"Weeks ago our sacred sanctuary was viciously violated by a horde of vicious hooligans. One defiler dared to return to the scene of his desecration and now stands before us!" Angry roars responded. "Brothers and sisters, what are we to do with him? Even accidents demand retribution and reparation. Fairly, I have asked the PPCLI to extradite those responsible so we may hold them to justice. How long have we offered to mediate this conflict between them and the Minutemen? You know how they responded." Jeers answered him. "Now we have an opportunity to claim a pound of flesh. What say you?" The crowd howled for blood, many of their lips salivating with bloodlust.

"Kill him!"

"Murder the murderer!"

"Feed him to the ghouls!"

Appleby raised his hands in the air and the crowd hushed immediately.

"You have spoken, thus as is our right, we hereby sentence this man to death. Send him to the crypt!"

The crowd erupted rapturously. The private stared ahead, just to the left of the crypt. He ignored the ghouls, the mob. His restraints were firmly tied. Even if he could undo them, escaping this mob was impossible. It was almost 2 miles to the North Bridge, through wide open streets, though dimly lit. A robed acolyte appeared behind him. He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply. This was the worst mistake he'd ever made, he had no illusions his death would ease tensions, only exacerbate them. Nor did he delude himself into thinking himself a martyr, he was fool whose guilt had weakened him and led to him to a fatal mistake. The robed acolyte nudged behind him.

"It's me." A familiar voiced whispered.

"I'm gonna untie you when I count to three. When I do, run and follow me."

He nodded.

"One...two...three."

He saw a canister land on the ground next to him. He knew what it was and shut his eyes. He heard a deafening explosion, followed by sounds of commotion and confusion. The hiss of gas ejecting out of the grenade. He felt his hands being freed.

"You're free. Let's go!"

They rushed through the plumes of billowing smoke; they vanished into the darkness and the mist. They ran between houses, always staying off the streets, snaking their way northward. They had to be cautious for the entire island was searching for them. They could see darting beams of flashlights, curses of searching mobs.

At last they reached the northern edge of the island. The bridge was being heavily guarded, more so than usual. The old marina was on the far side of the island, trying to get there would guarantee detection. They had to swim across the Detroit River, the waters would be cold, the current churning. They overlooked the river from a short cliff. The opposite shore was a thousand feet away, it was dark, no lights to be seen, anything could be on the other side, waiting for them or otherwise.

"We have to swim it." Erica stared hard at the Private. He ignored her glare but he could feel her eyes boring into him.

"Can you swim?" She asked. He nodded.

"Just my fucking luck."

"Let's go." He was eager to get this over with, if at the very least so he wouldn't have to deal with Erica, but they were still at risk of being discovered. He guessed the night air was a few degrees above freezing. Once they emerged from the water they would have only minutes to warm themselves and avoid hypothermia.

He inhaled deeply and ran. He closed his eyes as he leapt in the air. For brief infinitudes of seconds he felt like was flying, the cold air rushing by him. The frigid waters hit him like a rock, his entire body stiffened from the shock of the cold and he struggled to swim to the surface. He heard a loud splash next to him. He surfaced and opened his eyes. The cold air stung his wet face. Erica surfaced next to him.

They started swimming towards the shore, swimming as fast as they could. Their clothes were causing drag, the current pushed them, making their trajectory longer and their swim harder, more perilous. Within a minute both of them were struggling to swim, their muscles and bones ached from the cold, the frigid waters sapping their strength and energy.

_It's so cold._

Erica's teeth were loudly chattering, the Vodka had been a clear mistake. The private kept looking back at her as she was falling behind. She inched forward, trying her best but with increasingly diminishing returns. She felt herself drifting with the current. The shore was still far away.

"Come on." He urged. "We're almost there. We can make it."

_It's so cold._

She closed her eyes and willed her legs and arms forward. It was so cold. It was so hard. Her face bobbed below the surface. She sunk a few inches, a surge of energy brought her head above water. Her breath was hoarse and she struggled to stay above water. Water flooded her mouth as she sank below the surface one more time. A hand grabbed her shoulder and dragged her to the surface. Latendresse held her shoulder, keeping her head above water. He struggled to swim for both of them.

_It's so cold._

"Go on your back, tilt your head back." She did and found she was able to sink less as Latendresse dragged her. She tried to kick but her legs were scarcely able to move. Latendresse's swim strokes were brief pulses, with a sinking lull in between each push forward. The gap between each stroke continued to increase, the private was breathing hoarsely, his teeth chattered loudly. Erica closed her eyes, expecting to sink below the surface and be claimed by the river. She should've never taken the job.

_It's so cold._

Latendresse continued to push forward, his bones and muscles aching, he was so cold that he was beginning to feel warm. This delusion motivated him, gave him some extra push, though the boost was short lived. He looked up and believed he was hallucinating; the shore was just there, just a few short feet in front of them. But they couldn't be this close. The private let his leg sink and was shocked when it made contact with the ground.

_It's so cold._

"We made it." He whispered, beginning to walk, still dragging Erica who had lost consciousness. The cold air felt like a tailor-made shroud, impossible to remove. Each step forward was painful but the joy of reaching land had motivated him, giving him small but valuable doses of extra strength.

_It's so cold._

He dragged Erica's body out of the water. They needed warmth and shelter urgently or they would die. There was a house in front of them with a collapsed roof. This would give them some shelter. Dragging both of them inside was painfully slow, though the distance was only a handful of meters it took him almost 5 minutes to reach it.

_It's so cold._

He rolled Erica's inert body on the ground, nudging her against the wall. His shivering hands struggled to open her soaked rucksack. His blue hands barely clasped a couple of fission batters. He cursed. He didn't have a knife to open it. He'd have to smash it open but that wouldn't be easy. He grabbed one in both hands and slammed it against the wall. The battery fell limply out of his shaking hands. Looking at the battery on the ground he smashed it with his heel. That did it; he heard a pop as the top of the battery was pried open. He did the same with the other battery. His entire body was trembling, his clothes only increasing the coldness he felt. Radioactive heat began to emanate from the batteries, it was faint but he felt it nonetheless. His hands and face hovered over the open batteries, their heat as precious as diamonds from heaven.

_It's so cold._

He began removing his clothes. He managed to remove his jacket and shirt without much trouble. He threw them away, he knew he'd have to hang them so they could dry, but had had other priorities right now. His nearly frostbitten fingers struggled mightily to undo his boot laces. He squealed like a pig in desperation as he tried to drag his feet out of his soaked boots. He managed to squeeze his feet out with great effort and even greater anxiety. Fighting off panic was just as important and difficult as fighting off the cold. His wet socks were another struggle.

Now naked he turned his attention to Erica. She hadn't moved since he'd placed her against the wall but she was still breathing. He placed his hands over the batteries and this allowed his fingers to warm slightly. He desperately tugged at her clothes, causing some of them to tear off. Once she was naked he grabbed the two batteries he'd opened and placed them next to her. Then he walked across the room where an old sofa was. He grabbed the cushions, torn and dust filled. He snuggled his freezing nude body next to hers and placed the cushions over them, creating an ersatz tent and a warming current of sorts. Imperceptibly they began to warm themselves. Latendresse fell asleep.

_It's so cold._


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Erica awoke slowly. She felt a dull throbbing in her left foot, a light weight atop her. The air was insidiously damp and cold. She heard faintly the rustling waters of the Detroit River. Slowly, and almost hesitantly she opened her eyes. She was inside an old house, walls ripped, moldy and torn. Lying atop her was an old tarp, and dusty cushions. Her leg felt numb, she felt for the brace and it was still there, the battery had run out. She pushed the tarp and cushions away. She was wearing her overcoat and pants. Her undergarments were on the floor before her, ripped, torn.

_Oh fuck! _She thought, fearing the worst. She checked herself. _No it wasn't that_. She threw the last of the coverings. She sighed in horror looking at her left foot. Two biggest toes were gone, a stained bandage covering the stump where her toes had been. Memory came to her; she remembered jumping in the water, and the insidious cold, but nothing else.

_Frostbite_, she cursed. All because of that fucking private. Why did she rescue him? She would've been better off cutting her losses; she'd been close, so very close to letting him die. But her conscience pulled her in the opposite direction. She looked at him from afar, helpless, about to be devoured by ghouls. He didn't deserve that fate. Not too many people did. Confessing, as stupid as it had been, had shown he wasn't a cold hearted bastard. All her life she'd closed herself off, made herself cold to numb her emotions to survive. But she was human, and humanity can reassert itself when it's the least convenient.

She heard footsteps. She knew it was the Private. He came back, holding several squirrel hides in his hands.

"You're up. How are you?"

She fixed him with a hard glare. He'd saved her life, but if it wasn't for him she wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. He wasn't a cold hearted bastard, but he was still a stuck up prick with a lot to answer for.

"Just dandy. My leg is broken, my toes are gone, we're lost, my clothes are torn to shit, all because..."

"Shut up _colisse!_ Look I'm sorry for the shit that's happened and I know it was dumb to confess, but you'd be dead right now if it wasn't for me."

"I'd have all my toes if it wasn't for you!"

"Look I don't want your gratitude or fake thank you's. I just want a little fucking recognition and respect right now. You've been out 3 days, I've kept you warm, if I hadn't operated you'd have lost your whole foot. I've found food, extra clothes, shelter, I know where we are."

"Well I'm glad you took a cold shower at least."

"_Ferme ta geuele crisse de putain de merde!_" He slapped her, hard.

The pain felt oddly warm on her cold face. She wanted to rise to strike him back, but she found to her dismay she could scarcely crawl.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn. You can either come with me or stay here. The only way I'm gonna bring you along is if you cram that attitude of yours. Here's some squirrel meat. I'm gonna go and check the rest of my snares. See you later."

They set off just before dawn. They'd used up a fair amount of fission batteries, Erica had only a handful left. To numb the pain Erica had shot herself up with Med-X. Resting for a few days had improved the healing of her leg, but it wasn't strong enough to walk on yet. Walking without toes was awkward, she lacked the balance she'd taken for granted all her life. Going up or down hills was tricky, and required her to awkwardly counter balance herself.

They were in deep Red Wings territory. The Olympia, the Red Wings' headquarters was plainly visible, one of the few large buildings to survive the nuclear assault more or less intact. They were within a day's walk of their destination, approaching from this side meant they would be wary of Deathclaw territory, wolves and bears. This side was also close to Fort Patton, where the Minutemen were based.

Their escapade had meant they'd lost their weapons and much of their equipment and food. Erica still had her rucksack with some food and batteries and caps. But replenishing themselves would cost them most if not all their caps.

"What's your first name?" Erica asked, to both of their surprise

"Charles."

"Your last name, does it mean something?"

"Yeah, it sorta means tenderness."

"You don't strike me as being very tender." She chuckled.

Charles smiled. "You haven't met my girlfriend!"

Erica laughed for the first time in days

Erica walked alone once they reached the Olympia. Charles' presence would be problematic at best. The Olympia still stood, more or less, one of the corners of the building had caved in but otherwise the red bricked building still stood, the marquees and lettering long gone. It was surrounded with makeshift walls and guard towers. There was only one gate.

She was stopped at the guard post, manned by two guards, a male and a female redhead, her hair redder than perdition's flames. Both looked tired, eager for their shifts to end. They were both armed with Kalashnikovs. They looked her over, sizing her up, and then they looked at another with tired eyes.

"Is it your turn Shanny, or is it mine?" The redhead asked her compatriot.

"It's yours, Red."

"Right." Red sighed, inhaling deeply a cigarette. Looking at Erica with tired eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Rosie Palms."

"What's your business?"

"Looking to trade and get shitfaced."

"Sounds like a good time. You been near Belle Isle lately?"

"Nope, I've been prospecting out west for the past week or so. Why?"

"One of those PPCLI cunts and a female friend dropped in and escaped. They're probably dead but were keeping an extra eye out in case. You see a Frog and a woman together you let us know."

"If you make it worth my while."

"Of course we will. We got lots of caps for someone who could catch them. Not just caps, a nice, warm place to stay the winter. Sound good?"

"I'll keep an eye out."

"Alright, open the gate Shanny!"

She walked through. The courtyard was beginning to buzz slightly with activity. Lots of reparation work was underway, to make the building safe for the upcoming winter. It had sustained some damage, there'd been fighting this past summer between the Red Wings and the Minutemen. The PPCLI didn't consider the Olympia to be of any value, thus the two forces largely ignored another, the Belle Isle Massacre notwithstanding.

The Minutemen were a mysterious group. They inhabited Fort Patton, a military base largely built under ground and thus had survived the scorching of the Great War. It had been connected to Vault 56 and had been severely affected when a portion of it had caved in, taking hundreds of lives and much of the military leadership. They claimed to be taking orders from Washington, the center of the pre-war government, and wanted to eradicate all foreigners and communist subversion in the Detroit area and spread beyond. Despite their claims and holds of prewar military technology, they were little more than another band of opportunistic raiders. They wished to assimilate the Red Wings, and seize the Olympia's fertile hydroponics facilities for themselves. The Red Wings were not in favour of this.

Inside the Olympia was a struggling but stable settlement. The Red Wings provided for a few hundred souls. The old ice surface had been converted to a massive hydroponics facility which provided enough food; there'd been some summers where they actually traded food. Numbers provided protection; the ghosts of the Olympia provided an identity, something to rally around and identify with. Beyond that, they lived from one day to the next, caring nothing for the wars of the past and the present that others found so important.

She'd been here before, several months past and it hadn't changed much. The air hung with moisture and body odour. She walked through the concourse. Looking up to the rafters she saw red and white banners hanging from the ceiling. The banners bore championship years and names from a glorious past; Aurie, Howe, Delvecchio, Lindsay, Sawchuk, Abel, Yzerman, Konstantinov, Lidstrom, Fedorov, Shanahan, Datsyuk, Zetterberg, Dunlop, Oglethorpe. It reminded Erica of the battle honours in Fort Malden that served a purpose just as futile.

She made her way past the overflowing medical bay, to Terrible Ted's, the arms merchant, and one of the leaders of the Red Wings gang, or team as they liked to call themselves. Ted was a local legend, often spoken of in hushed tones. Erica had never met him, and if the stories about him were even infinitesimally true, she hoped to never make his acquaintance.

She walked in, at this hour she was the sole customer. Around the store were a handful of armed guards, watching her suspiciously. Behind the counter was Mr. Elbows. In prewar times at 6'2 he would've been considered average height, but now he was a giant behemoth, towering over everyone. He was wide shouldered but his face was oddly gaunt. His nickname came from when he killed a man solely by using his elbows. He looked at her indifferently. She scanned the rows of weapons behind him.

"I'll have that Lee Enfield, and that AK over there." He handed her the weapons. She handled them, tested the trigger, the weight and balance. Pretty good condition, not perfect, but good enough.

I'll take some ammo too." Mags and cartridges were brought out.

"How much for all this?"

"550 caps. "

Erica fought the urge to swear. They only had 700 left, and still had to buy batteries and meds. But what option did they have? They were unlikely to find any merchants on the roads. She looked around and had an idea, though it disgusted her.

"Let's make a deal." She began. "I'll give you 100 caps, and I'll blow everyone here."

Mr. Elbows smiled broadly, revealing cracked and decaying teeth.

"Sounds good, sugar. Ozzy, get Ted and lock the door. I'll go first."

Erica emerged later, fighting nausea, but at least she had the weapons and ammo they needed. She hadn't swallowed for any of them, so her dignity was partially intact. Terrible Ted was surprisingly short and thin, though his hard eyes and scarred face left no doubt as to the accuracy of his reputation. It hadn't been that bad she thought to herself. The things she was doing for Charles and this crazy mission. When it was over she was going to ask for triple what she'd been promised. She went to Chelly's General Goods. Chelly was a mild manned man, a man of unremarkable features, manner and reputation.

"I need some fission batteries. Got Any Med-X or Stimpacks?"

He shot her a furtive glance that she ignored.

"I have no meds; I sell 'em to the clinic. Don't want no junkies using 'em. As for batteries, I got a dozen. Why? Interested?"

"How much?"

"70 caps."

"Here." She wasn't going to offer another _deal._

She handed over a bag full of caps. She stuffed the batteries in her rucksack and walked away. They had their weapons and supplies, except for meds. They'd have to hope things didn't get too hairy. She still had a couple of Med-X syringes; she'd have to tough out the pain when it came calling.

She walked out of the store, and as such didn't notice Chelly running from his store to Terrible Ted's weapon store. She rejoined Charles a mile outside the Olympia, they set off for their destination, a full day's travel ahead of them.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Charles could tell Erica was in a sour mood by the way she walked towards his hideout. Well, she was always in a sour mood, just surlier than normal, which was saying something. She saw him but avoided his eyes. She shoved the rifle in his arms and threw the cartridges at him.

"I hope you're happy!"

He knew better than to ask what had upset Erica so much. He also knew it would be best to speak little or nothing to her for the next little while. Any comment, no matter how innocuous, could set her off. He examined the rifle. He adjusted the gun sight and the strap. He picked up the cartridges and loaded a magazine.

They set of. Charles kept his rifle loaded and held out in front of him. His eyes scanned around them. Alert for any movement or any sight even remotely innocuous. They walked among infinitude of decrepit detritus. Steel beams, portions of brick walls, shards of partially melted glass, bones, slivers of torn wood, heaps of unrecognizable scrap metal, all covered by frost and dust. There was little that stood on their path as they trod through the devastation. The missiles had hit somewhere north of here. If they were to tread further northward, they would run into pure desolation where only ash and dust remained, shadows of incinerated dead were still inscribed upon the ground for all eternity, mute witnesses to the unfathomable apocalypse. Here the nuclear winds had raped the land, blowing everything away but not melting or incinerating it. They trod over the remains of thousands of lives, lives that had known joy and sadness, triumph and defeat, monotony and excitement, sloth and toil, life and death. Lives violently shortened, and though theses uncounted lives were unto themselves vast infinite universes, now they were dust, forgotten and unknown for all eternity.

Charles continued to scan the horizon with his rifle and eyes. Erica did the same, though she was more focused on walking. Walking without her toes was difficult, and she had to be mindful of the fission battery powering her brace. Med-X was keeping the pain down for now, but she would be out soon and she had no idea how difficult it would make her journey afterward. They were roughly one day away from their destination, but getting back afterwards would be another difficult trek.

Erica noticed Charles walking alongside her, suddenly.

"Don't look around." He said. "We're being followed."

Erica cursed. "How many?"

"Four at least. Two miles behind us."

"What should we do?"

"Set up an ambush."

"Where Einstein?" There was nowhere in sight that could conceivably aid in an ambush. No standing structures at all, no hilly terrain, just bleak vastness.

"Are there any caves nearby?"

Erica thought it over.

"Yeah, actually. About a mile northeast of here. See that red pile of debris? Follow my finger... Thing is, it's a bear cave."

"We'll have to deal with them before we deal with whoever's following us."

They walked on with a more urgent pace. Erica struggled to keep up with him. She was cursing and sighing angrily. She could feel Charles' impatience and pity and it angered her to know he was feeling those things about her. She was used to surviving out in the wastes on her own, using her skill in battle, instincts and reflexes to survive. To require another's help, to be a burden, deeply wounded her. Without her batteries she was little other than a cripple, and cripples didn't live long.

They approached the cave 500 yards from its mouth. It was mid-afternoon but the sun was already beginning to set. They had two hours of sunlight at the most. Erica felt her leg buckling and she replaced the battery. Charles waited for her to finish.

"What's your plan?" She asked.

"First we need to clear out the cave."

"How do we clear out the cave?"

"We're gonna get our friends to do it for us."

"How?"

"We're out of their line of sight, and will be for another 15 minutes. We hide ourselves under this debris, wait for them to come by, they'll stir the bears 'cause they think we'll be in there, and we kill off whoever's left. "

That was better than what Erica had planned.

They spread themselves out, facing the bear cave. They lay on the ground and covered themselves with various flotsam and jetsam until they were unseen. Erica deactivated her battery, saving precious power. She readied her AK and pulled the extra magazines out of her pack. And waited.

* * *

It was nearly an hour until they heard the Red Wings coming. They heard footsteps and banter. They came into sight, there were four of them. Mr. Elbows, Terrible Ted, Shanny and a fourth Erica didn't recognize. They were armed with assault rifles, grenades and Mr. Elbows was armed with a Minigun.

"I betcha they went in there!" Terrible Ted said, pointing to the bear cave.

"Let's flush 'em out." Elbows said.

"Oy!" Ted shouted. "Frenchy! We know you and your bitch are in there! Come out and we'll let the girl live! She gives such good head, it would be a shame to kill her!"

The men laughed. But they were answered by a deep, throaty roar. And then a single roar became an uncountable multitude. The sound chilled Erica and filled her with fear. She reactivated her leg brace and readied her gun. She hoped the Red Wings and the bears would decimate another, leaving their escape easier. The Red Wings readied their guns; they stood uneasily next to another.

Waiting for the bears to emerge from their cave seemed to take forever, though it only took a handful of seconds. The first bear came out cautiously. It was large, maybe 11 feet long, ghostly white except for the ebony of its snout, deathless eyes and long claws. Not once had it emerged from the cave mouth did the Red Wings open fire. The bear took dozens of hits before it was felled.

The death triggered a deluge. Bear after bear after bear ran out of the cave, each as big or bigger than the felled scout. Running with unnatural silence and rapidity towards the human aggressors. The Red Wings opened fire and stood their ground, but they stood less confidently. The bears spread themselves out in a separate ranks, each rank heading for a single member of the Red Wings. A bear would be mowed down only to be replaced by another rushing bear, continuing to close the distance. A bear would be killed, but each dead bear was killed nearer and nearer to the Red Wings.

Terrible Ted was the first one felled by a bear. Erica watched as two bears leapt onto him, slashing him with their paws. Though on the ground Ted tried to resist, pulling out a combat knife and trying to slash at the bears. The bears tore into him with their claws. One slash ripped open his stomach, his entrails burst out. His throat was slashed, almost severing his head from the rest of his body. His agonized death cries were the first to pierce the dusk sky. Just as quickly as he had started, Ted was silenced and the bears began feasting.

Shanny was the next to go. He turned and ran but was quickly run down. Three bears leapt upon him and tackled him. He didn't even have the time to scream. The fourth Red Wing, the one Erica didn't recognize, held his ground but was nonetheless dispatched by two bears.

Mr. Elbows was the last to be felled. With his Minigun he tore through the bears rushing towards him. The bears began rushing him from other sides; he turned and dealt with them. He was yelling aloud as his bullets tore through the animals. But even a behemoth has an Achilles heel. He ran out of ammunition. Though there were only 8 bears left out of the dozens that had stormed out, that was more than enough to deal with him. It seemed the bears reserved a special fate for him, for they took their time bleeding and dismembering him, his agonized cries went on endlessly.

Erica looked away to where Charles had been hiding. She saw him slowly crawling from under his camouflage. He looked in her direction and waved his hand. Erica nodded uselessly and crawled out from under the debris. They cautiously backed away from the carnage, keeping their weapons drawn. A couple of bears saw them but ignored them, more than happy with the meals before them. With the last rays of the sunlight, they walked towards their destination, fading into obscurity.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

They walked for a few hours before setting down for the night. They wanted to put as much distance between them and the bear cave as possible. They set down near an old telephone post. They didn't light a fire; it would attract too much attention. Their bedroll kits had been left behind, Charles on Belle Isle and Erica's in the home where she'd recovered. Even after a few days it hadn't dried and was ruined. They gathered various debris. Charles found an old tarp; Erica found a ruined bookshelf with dozens of ruined magazines and books. They slid under their ersatz covers and waited for sleep to take them.

The air was arid and cold and the wind blew, bringing with it whispers of cries and howling beasts. It was a low hum, impossible to identify any particular sound. It was an uneasy accompaniment, they shifted in their attempts to get to sleep. The wind and the air penetrated easily through their makeshift sleeping covers. Hours passed without sleep for either of them.

"Charles?" Erica called out.

Charles believed he was imagining Erica calling him by name.

"What?"

"I can't sleep. It's too cold."

"Same here."

"I think we should…you know….sleep together."

There was a long pause.

"Okay."

Charles crawled over to Erica, dragging the tarp with him. He snuggled up next to her, her back to him. Her body was warm and his coldness melted. In the darkness she was a woman like any other, of pleasing shape. In the darkness she could've been his girlfriend. In the darkness she wasn't the woman with whom he'd been quarreling these past few days.

"Don't get any ideas or I'll slice your cock off."

* * *

They awoke with the dawn. The wind was blowing harder now. Charles scurried away to get breakfast ready, hoping Erica wouldn't notice his morning wood. Erica smirked to herself. It was actually a fair-sized tent. They each ate an MRE packet raw to save on batteries, it was harder to chew but it still nourished them. She replaced a battery and powered up her leg brace.

"How much further?" Charles asked.

"About a dozen miles. We have to be careful, keep an eye out for Deathclaws. Fort Patton is also nearby; we might run into some Minutemen patrols. What do we do if they take pot-shots at us?"

"Shoot back."

"What if they stop us?"

"Pretend we're a happy scavenging couple. "

"Smart ass."

* * *

They walked for some time in alert silence, their weapons at the ready, both of them scanning the horizon for the slightest hint of trouble. Both had seen firsthand what a Deathclaw could do to a person caught unawares. Though even the most disciplined and alert mind can wander with time.

"You said you had a girlfriend?" Erica asked suddenly. _Why am I asking this_? Erica thought to herself.

"Yeah." Charles replied hesitantly.

"What's her name?"

"Why do you care?"

"Look… I thought it would be nice if we weren't busting each other's balls all the time. So maybe we should try talk to each other like normal people do. "

"Okay… Her name's Sandra."

"What's she like?"

"She's a couple years older, got brown hair, nice blue eyes, very beautiful, great body. She's smart, tough, likes to drink, she's got a great laugh…"

Erica slyly watched him as he described her. He was smiling, his entire face lit up, like he was someone totally different. Perhaps… Perhaps she'd misjudged him. Maybe he wasn't a stuck up prick after all. Maybe he was just a regular guy who'd made a big mistake. She'd made her share of mistakes over the years, though none as big or irreversible as his.

"She sounds like an amazing woman. "

"Yeah, she is." Charles smiled with amorous pride.

"Does she like girls?"

Charles stared at her hard. Erica regretted her quip immediately.

"Shit. Look, I'm sorry."

Charles grinned at her.

"You're not her type!"

They both laughed heartily. She noticed Charles was continuing to smile.

"What are you smiling about, jackass?"

"I got you to apologize. You're more stubborn than a mule."

"It doesn't count. I wasn't apologizing for something important."

"You're saying that today, tomorrow you…."

Their banter was interrupted by a distant but fast approaching thunder. The thunder of Vertibird blades. It was coming straight for them. Erica cursed. There was little cover, a few walls still stood, a handful of tree stumps, but nothing else. Certainly nothing that might protect them from a Vertibird.

"There it is!" They spotted it, flying very low, and turning erratically. They also heard the sound of gunfire. They saw it circling a distant figure on the ground.

"Oh Fuck!" Erica swore.

"Deathclaw."

The Vertibird rose in the sky and then banked towards the running Deathclaw. It buzzed by, missing the beast by only a few meters. It climbed again for another pass. The Deathclaw turned and fled away from the Vertibird. This time its gun unloaded, but deliberately missing the creature, it's bullets hitting far ahead of it. They were driving the creature towards Erica and Charles. The Deathclaw continued to run, afraid and alone. The angry Vertibird in the sky driving it to wherever it's madness suited.

"Let's hide against the wall!" Charles suggested, pointing to a broke façade of a house. Erica ran with him.

They heard another burst of gunfire. They Deathclaw ran past them, a dozen meters away. It ignored them continuing to flee. Its head turned erratically in panic, looking for a place to hide. Charles was positive he heard the creature uttering a plaintive whine. The Vertibird passed directly overhead, its fuselage only a dozen feet off the ground. The loud sound of the rotors was deafening, drowning out the sound of the Minigun. The Vertibird climbed in the sky. It climbed and turned, its shape briefly blocked out the morning sun. When it finished its turn it angled its nose downward, heading straight for the Deathclaw. It looked like a great bird of prey, gliding downward, its talons extended, and grappling onto its prey with deadly precision. It opened fire, hitting the Deathclaw and ripping it to shreds.

The Vertibird's landing gear extended as it slowed in to land, not far from the Deathclaw's corpse. The Old World flag of America was proudly painted on its fuselage. Erica and Charles were in plain sight, running would do them no good. The vehicle's doors opened as it landed. 8 figures wearing Winterized Combat Amor rushed out. Half of them walked towards their prize, the other half walked towards Erica and Charles. They pointed their Plasma Rifles at them.

"Lower your weapons!" One of them shouted.

"This trip keeps getting better." Erica sighed, lowering her Kalashnikov to the ground.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Who are you? What are you doing?" One of the armed Minutemen asked them. They looked at them sternly but with faint curiosity. His uniform identified him as a Lieutenant.

"Just a couple of prospectors, is all." Erica answered. Without looking, she could feel Charles tensing. He was so used to shooting these people, being this close unarmed was unnerving.

"Scavenging, huh?" One of them said. "Find much?"

"Nope." Erica answered, pretending to sound disappointed.

"You guys won't find much out here. Place was nuked to hell. Still get scary Rads in some spots. Plus Deathclaws wander around here. You two should be careful."

"Keep an eye on these two, Lance Corporal, while we attend to the Delta-Charlie."

Two of the Minutemen turned away from them, walking towards their comrades attending to the Deathclaw carcass. They were using chainsaws to chop up the body into smaller pieces and placed those bits into sealable bags.

"There's not a lot of meat on this. Hardly seems worth it."

"It was fun though."

"Jones, you think shooting anything is fun!"

"Fuck yeah! Shooting anything with a Sprtel Wood Model 95000-BMFG Fuselage-Mounted Gatling Laser Cannon is fun! You tell me you don't get a massive kick from pulling the trigger on that thing? Hey, remember what Sarge Woods used to say? Anyone who runs is Canadian Bacon, anyone who stands still is deep fried Canadian Bacon!"

They broke out in laughs and then into a "U-S-A!" chant.

"Knock it off or I'll be using you for target practice!" The Lieutenant barked, and his words had the desired effect on their productivity.

"Remember, cut above the wrist and we can make more gauntlets."

Erica could feel Charles tensing with anger. He was staring ahead with hard eyes. He wanted nothing more than to gun them down.

"You don't talk much, do you?" The Corporal said to Charles.

Charles said nothing but his staring eyes focused on the young Corporal.

"You got a problem, wastey?"

"Charles, relax." Erica said, almost begging.

Charles said nothing, continuing to stare at the Corporal, his eyes full of hate. The Corporal stared back, no longer bored.

"You got a problem with us killing a Deathclaw? You some kind of pinko commie tree hugger? That's rich. I got news for ya punk, there aren't no trees left to hug. So look away before I give you my M-14 to hug!"

"Charles…"

"Look away!" The Corporal yelled.

Erica felt the situation sliding rapidly out of control, beyond her ability to stop it.

"I said look away you little wastey or imma gonna waste your ass right here!" The Corporal stepped towards Charles, Charles stepped forward, inches separated their wrathful faces.

"Ohh, you think you baddass, huh? Imma gonna frag your ass so bad it's gonna go round the world five times and end up in your throat!"

Charles' fists clenched. Erica had to act now or hell would break loose. She noticed they were drawing the attention of the rest of the platoon.

"Lieutenant!" She yelled.

A good commander must possess a good command voice, a voice that is loud and commands unquestioning and immediate respect and obedience. Luckily, the Lieutenant had one of those voices.

"Lance Corporal Dawson! Stand down!" The Corporal backed away and looked fearfully to his Lieutenant.

"Stand at attention when I'm talking to you!" The Corporal quickly complied.

"Goddammit, Corporal. How many briefings have you been to? How many times have we stressed the need to win hearts and minds to bring back the glory of the Stars and Stripes to these people? You don't win hearts and minds by yelling at civies! Am I clear?" The corporal nodded.

"What? I didn't hear you?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"What? I thought I heard a parakeet fart."

"SIR, YES SIR!"

"Good! Now turn around and apologize to the man."

The corporal was immobile.

"Do you have a hearing problem!?"

The Corporal weakly turned around. Charles was still staring at him hardly. The Corporal looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" The Lieutenant interjected.

"I'm sorry for…harassing you."

"Apology accepted." Erica interjected. She wanted to punch Charles in the face, but now wasn't the time.

"Lance Corporal. Return to base. I think it's best if you double-time it. You better start now. If you're not back by 0200 hours you're gonna spend the next three weeks on K.P."

The Corporal said nothing and started off.

"Right men, are we done?"

"Just about, sir."

The Lieutenant turned to them.

"On behalf of the government and Army of the United States of America and the Great Midwest Commonwealth, I offer our most sincere apologies. The Corporal has been under a lot of stress lately. Is there anything you require that we can compensate you?"

"Do you have any bedroll kits? We need two." The Lieutenant nodded and went back to the Veribird and fetched them two bedroll kits.

"Thank you." Erica accepted gratefully. She might have to put with him but at least she didn't have to sleep with him anymore. Charles had turned away fuming.

"My… husband's had a rough summer. He had a big accident and lost someone."

The Lieutenant nodded sympathetically. "It's been like that for all of us, regardless of the season. Take care of yourself and your husband ma'am. It's nice to see there's still married people out here in the wastes. Makes me believe there's still hope for us."

"All set L.T.!"

The Vertibird's engines began buzzing. The Lieutenant nodded to Erica and boarded the craft. It rose into the sky, kicking up a blinding storm of dust and debris, and flew off in the distance.

Erica waited before the Vertibird was out of sight before she lunged at Charles. He'd bent over to pick up their weapons. She knocked him over and landed one solid punch on his nose before he grabbed her hands. She struggled to break free of his grasp, to hit him one more time, but his hold was solid. Seeing him bleed offered some small satisfaction.

"You fucking idiot! You almost got us killed!"

They spun around on the ground. Charles found himself a top her. He swung a fist at her but she deflected it, and it bounced off her shoulder. She grabbed his wrists and the struggled continued. From afar, it looked like something entirely different was happening.

"They're fucking yanks, _tabernac!_ They killed my friends and bragged about it!"

"Aren't you supposed to be the disciplined one? What was it you said to me that first night? 'You have to be disciplined to survive.' We have a mission to accomplish! Remember that?"

A strange look passed through his eyes and he stopped struggling. He stood up and offered his hand to her. Erica ignored his outstretched hand and stood on her own.

"Let's go. We're almost there and I can't wait for this fucking mission to be over. I deserve a ten thousand cap bonus just for putting up with you!"

Charles ignored her, but Erica could tell he was genuinely sorry, and her frustration waned. There were times he infuriated her, yet he wasn't without endearing qualities. One minute she liked him, the next she wanted to crush his skull. It was the maddening ambiguity that angered and flustered her the most. How was she supposed to react to him?

Erica felt her broken leg getting heavy. She replaced the battery, noting she was down to a handful of batteries. Enough for two days, three if she was creative. She ran to catch up with him, he hadn't stopped to wait for her. She was adapting to missing her toes and though she would never have full mobility or speed, she was keeping pace with him.

They walked purposefully, with an extra bounce in their stride, similar to what marathon runners feel when the finish line is in sight. They kept their weapons drawn and their eyes alert. They spoke only when necessary. The silence grew less tense as the day went on, the anger gradually dissipating like morning mist. They emerged from the vast, infinite plains of rubble into something clearer, yet nonetheless desolate, by mid afternoon.

"Is this it?" Charles asked, looking at the empty space before him. There was a strange sort of emptiness before him, something that differentiated it from the countless other forms of devastation. There were bare rolling hills and mutilated tree stumps. Before him, in a pool of thick sand, stood a swing set. Hanging from it was but a single swing. The other swings had long ago vanished. It stood as a monument to lost innocence, joy, and life.

"Yep." Erica said with evident relief. She looked away from the swing set, not wanting to contemplate its horrifying implications.

"Where do we go from now?"

"Just a few hundred yards that way."

They walked at a brisk pace. Charles recognized this area from the aerial pictures taken from the drone. He knew well enough not to get too far ahead of himself. There might be creatures about. And no telling how hard the door lock would be to crack.

"There it is!" Erica shouted, almost in joy, upon seeing the steel door. The door was built into the ground, at the bottom of a deep valley; it looked like the entrance to a military bunker.

"_Ah merde! Colisse de tabernac_!" Charles swore, kicking at the ground.

"What is it?"

"My lock-picking tool. It was in my rucksack back on the island."

For once, Erica wasn't fazed. She fished into her pockets and pulled out some bobbypins and an old Swiss Army Knife. She extended the flat-headed screwdriver from the knife and handed it to Charles.

"You can use these to pick a lock."

"Really?" Charles was taken aback. She'd never seen him with such a puzzled look before.

"Some master lock-picker you are." She teased.

He grinned at her as he took the tools. He knelt down in front of the door. It was a pressure-sealed door, common enough in military and other high level buildings. It completely sealed off the building from outside air, creating a safe and sterile environment. These locks were harder to crack than most, but it could be done with enough skill and patience. It was a good thing he'd read a copy of Tumblers Today before leaving on this mission, they had a good article about these kinds of door locks.

"Oh, I get it!" Charles said, slipping the bobbypin in and using the knife for torque. He felt around cautiously, he didn't want to break any of the bobbypins, Erica had only given him five and there'd probably be more locks to pick.

Their enthusiasm dimmed when they heard the howling of a wolf. A single howl was rapidly answered by many others. They sounded close, less than two hundred yards away. Erica readied rifle and kept her eyes peeled. She flicked the safety to semi-auto.

"Use short bursts!" Charles advised.

"You do your job, I'll do mine!"

Charles fiddled with the bobby pin, changing the angle a few degrees but felt tension whenever he pressured the knife. He swore but continued to try different angles. The wolves howled again and they sounded much closer. Charles tried and different angle and pushed forward, the lock turned and for brief factions of a second felt hope until he felt tension. He pushed the bobbyin further up and tried again, the lock turned more, but he felt it tense when it had made a quarter of a revolution.

"Almost there." He said.

"So are the wolves."

His next try got it a bit further, halfway to the sweet spot. Erica saw the wolves; 10 of them, looking down upon them. Their fur was bleach white and lined with patches of black dark as pitch. They were growling and barring their teeth at them, though they made no approach, pacing menacingly on the ridge above them. Erica aimed her rifle at the biggest wolf, the Alpha Male, and fired a short burst of gunfire. Bullets tore into its mid-side. It knocked the animal back but it remained on its feet, though wounded. It growled vengefully but made no move. Erica panned her rifle around and spotted a wolf trying to sneak down the hill upon them. She opened fire with two short bursts and it killed the animal. The Alpha Male barked. She continued to scan with her rifle; the wolves had split up, each far from the other and at various angles. All they were waiting for was a single command from the Alpha Male and they would leap upon them, and there wasn't much Erica could do to stop them.

"Hurry!" She yelled, her voice laced with panic and worry.

"Just about there." Charles said. He pushed forward with the knife, closing his eyes as the lock turned. Slowly it turned until it made a half revolution and hit the sweet spot.

"Got it!" He shouted. There was a loud click as the door unlocked and began to open. Erica didn't wait for the wolves to react. She fired a burst at one wolf, wounding it, then spun around and fired another burst at another wolf. The wolves began charging. Erica spun around again. The Alpha Male was coming straight for them, his hungry jaws open wide, rapidly closing the distance. Erica fired but the burst did nothing to slow him down.

She felt a violent force grab her and pull her back. She fell briefly before landing hard. She continued to fire as she fell, hitting the wolf with another burst of fire. The wolf staggered but continued its relentless pace. There was a metallic whine and the steel doors rose upward and closed. There was a loud bang as the wolves collided with the closed door. Erica looked up at Charles who extended his hand to her. She grabbed it and he helped her to her feet.

"That was good shooting." He said.

"That was good lock-picking."

They looked at another awkwardly for a few moments before Erica looked away.

"So, we're in."


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

They were in a small room, doors facing in front of them, an airlock. The air was stale and dry. The floor cold. A lone light flickered above them amongst several extinguished ones. The ground vibrated steadily and there was a low, constant hum.

"This building has power." Erica said bewildered.

"I wonder how that's possible." Charles wondered, turning to the interior airlock door.

"Let's find out." Erica found a panel next to the door. She pressed a large red button. There was a loud creaking sound, the sound of steel grinding against steel. As if the building itself was being awakened after a long slumber, grumbling for having its slumber rudely interrupted. The sound stopped and they both feared the door wouldn't open. Then the door creaked open.

The door opened to a hallway, the hallway was bathed in a gentle blue hue. The walls were white and clean, the linoleum floors dust-free. On the ceiling hung a modest banner "Welcome to Appleby Industries. Proceed ahead for decontamination."

The name Appleby was familiar to them. Did this company have any relation to the Appleby's who'd run Belle Isle and Vault 45? Charles readied his rifle and Erica did the same. There was no telling what was in here. They crossed the threshold. One cautious footstep. A pause. A more confident footstep followed. Their footsteps echoed down the hall. They took a few steps forward. The door behind them shut suddenly. The hallway echoed with a loud metallic bang. It was so loud that Erica and Charles jumped.

They looked at another, worry on both of their faces but Charles' visage was serene, at ease with the unknown danger that lurked. They flicked their weapon safeties off and cautiously walked down the hallway. The hallway was leading them further into the bowels of this unknown building. The hallway led several meters to the end, a large doorway, guarded by a Protectron.

The Protectron's lights activated. Charles and Erica ducked and prepared to fire.

"Welcome to Appleby Industries. Please proceed through decontamination procedures. Decontamination is mandatory to attain admittance. If you are an employee, please present Identification Card. Employees are allowed a maximum of five individuals on their guest list. If you not an employee, state the name of the employee to which you are a guest. Individuals not employees or guests will be denied entry. Welcome to Appleby Industries..."

"You wouldn't happen to have security pass would you?" Erica joked.

"I forgot it in my other pair of pants."

Erica chuckled. "Mind if I take this one?"

"Be my guest."

Erica aimed her rifle, aiming at the Protectron through her sights. Days ago she'd be content to blast away, not paying too much attention to her aim or rate of fire. She'd learned since then, and there was a part of her, a deeply hidden part, that wanted to impress him. There was a hiss of static booming through the building as the P.A. system engaged itself.

"Do not open fire." A deep voice boomed, resonant with authority. "You are not at risk of harm. I have been following your movements for some time and have anticipated your arrival. Please follow the Protectron who will lead you through decontamination procedures. Once complete, we may meet more directly."

Erica looked at Charles. He shrugged.

"It may be a trap." She warned.

"I don't think so. I think... whoever that was, let us in. If he wanted us dead, we'd be dead already." He signalled her to follow him. She did, but noticed that Charles kept his rifle at the ready so she did the same.

"Please follow me." The Protectron droned and began walking clumsily as the doors opened. Charles and Erica followed behind, cautious. The doors revealed a small change room, lined with wooden benches and laundry bins. There was a glass sliding door at the end of the room.

"Please dispose of your clothing and all personal items in the bins indicated. Contaminated items are prohibited. Once disrobed, proceed to the showers. Ensure to wash thoroughly for five minutes. Continue through the showers and select your new clothing. Decontamination will then be complete."

They looked at another, taking off their clothes, their personal items? What could make them more vulnerable and useless?

The loud voice boomed. "I sense your hesitation. I guarantee your personal belongings will be returned to you before you leave this building. The doors in front of you will not open until you comply."

Erica didn't need to look at Charles to know his decision. He had his orders. Investigate this facility. Come back alive. He wasn't one to colour beyond the lines.

"You first or me?" She asked him.

"I'll go." He said, his voice for the first time betraying uncertainty. He then looked at her. Erica rolled her eyes. Though she initially felt annoyance, it was quickly replaced by something less malign.

"It's not fair." She teased. "You got to see me naked."

He smirked and turned his back to her as he laid his rifle against the wall, taking pains to keep it away the bin. He removed his clothes; he tried to act casually though Erica could see his nervousness. She wasn't complaining. One thing she couldn't fault Charles for was his physique, unlike other wastelanders he was far from scrawny or gaunt, well nourished; his body was in admirable shape, his body rippled with the fine lines of musculature. She inferred he was fairly well endowed. If only his personality was as complimentary as his physique.

She whistled as he got fully naked and walked towards the shower. He waved his hand in the air and passed through the doors as they opened. Damn, she couldn't see his package. There were times she chided herself for being hard on him, he had saved her life, made difficult decisions that had, in the end, worked out for the better. She heard the buzzing of running water... running water! She heard Charles ecstatically showering.

"_Ah oui, tabernac_! Hot water! Holy fuck! This is amazing!"

She got to undressing herself. Her coat was easy to remove. She sighed loudly as she removed her boots. The interior of her boot was caked with blood. She'd taken the last of the Med-X this morning; soon she wouldn't be able to ignore the pain. Though Charles had done his best to clean and bandage the wound, all this trekking had re-opened the wound. She hesitated before removing her sock. The sock peeled off, the caked blood making a sickening tearing sound. Her foot, missing two of its toes, looked in bad shape. The bandages, now days old, were soaked with blood and pus. Like her socks, they'd almost fused with her skin. She looked away as she removed the bandage, unable still to look at her feet.

She removed her pants next. Her broken leg was covered with bruises; the brace though was still functioning well. She hoped whoever had been speaking to them wasn't lying about returning their items. Without her few precious batteries she would be reduced to little more than a cripple. Cripples didn't last long in the wasteland. She cursed aloud, the amputated toes, this leg brace were undeniable evidence that she was less than she'd been before. The wild and dashing Erica Bronson, who'd built her wasteland reputation fighting against overwhelming odds, surviving due to her smarts and fitness. Maybe her days of being a mercenary were coming to an end. What would she do from now on? Settle in? Become some kind of wasteland housewife? As if. The idle life wasn't for her. She didn't want to turn into some old granny, drinking wistfully in mourning of the "good old days." Better to die young than to live into old age, withered and diminished. Helpless.

Anxious to avoid these thoughts, she hastily removed the rest of her clothes and with some eagerness walked into the shower area. She felt the heat and humidity. She turned to a shower head and it activated immediately.

She cried aloud with ecstatic joy. Warm running water! She'd never had a shower like this! The warm water felt so good. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against the shower head. She felt the water's cleansing effects, without opening her eyes she could feel the dirt, the grime, the blood and sweat wash away. She felt like not only was the water cleaning her, but was replacing her skin with a new coat, more resistant to impurities.

Charles was waiting for her outside the second change room. He was wearing a white jumpsuit and comfortable slippers, similar to one she was now wearing. It was odd that these clothes fit them more or less perfectly. He looked fresher, and he certainly smelled nicer. He had a big grin on his face, one that matched hers.

"Can you believe before the war, people use to have those every day?!" Like a child upon discovering an earth shattering factoid.

The authoritative voice boomed through the PA. "You have now passed through decontamination. Proceed down the hallway and enter room 6A. There we may meet at last."

They passed steel doors, 1A, 1B, 2A, and so on until they rounded a corner and came to door 6A. There was a gun turret mounted on the ceiling in front of the door, though it appeared inactive. Charles opened the door and stepped inside, Erica behind him.

They were inside a large rectangular room, a laboratory. Digital readouts lined the walls. Dozens of tables littered with documents, keyboards and computers. The table nearest to them had upon it a single coffee mug and a framed picture. A picture beheld two young men sandwiched between an older couple, smiling, from a time before the apocalypse, when one could smile without self-deception. At the head of the room was a cylindrical chamber, lined with glass, steel and a digital display. They approached it, and though the glass was fogged over, it was possible to divine what was inside. A human body.

"Welcome, guests to Appleby Industries." The deep voice resumed, its voice emanating from speakers connected to the PA system. "I was once Howard Appleby. I was born March 15, 2040 in Grand Rapids, a town now forgotten but nearby. At the time of the nuclear conflict I was President and Chief Executive Officer of Appleby Industries, founded on January 15, 2020 by my mother Elizabeth Appleby. My current name is Alpha. To whom have I granted access to my abode?"

"Private Charles Latendresse, 5th Company, Princes Patricia's Light Infantry Regiment. 413324."

"Erica Hanson."

"A military and a civilian... An interesting dichotomy. My facilities' medical scanners have indicated you're both afflicted with moderate dehydration, exhaustion and starvation. Private Latendresse has several contusions, bruises and abrasions. Ms. Hanson has a broken leg, currently held in place by a product of this company's design, Medical Brace model# 3123, only 23 were produced before the war. Fascinating to find an example still operational. You are missing two toes owing to amputation, most likely due to frostbite. I calculate a 75% probability that the wound will become infected within 3 days if no further treatment is given. I detect faint traces of morphine in your system. Furthermore, I detect higher than nominal levels of pheromones indicating that..."

"Enough!" Erica interjected, staring straight ahead, hoping Charles wasn't looking at her but she saw his head dart towards her and then straight ahead.

"You know much about us, but we know nothing about you." Charles said, acutely interested.

"Correct, I wished only to give a small demonstration of the powers at my disposal. In the 2060s I became convinced that a cataclysmic war was upon the horizon. Intent on surviving, I set my companies' resources to surviving the upcoming conflict. One such avenue was constructing this facility underground, safe from any warheads or explosions. Another was this hypobaric chamber which houses my former mortal shell and keeps it preserved. Only two such chambers were ever produced. The one you see before you and another was purchased by one of my erstwhile competitors, a Robert Edwin House, a resident of Las Vegas. The first warhead hit the United States at 1:34 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, owing to the time of the attack, this facility was sparsely populated. The detonations caused all entrances save the emergency entrance, which you entered, to be rendered inaccessible. Soon after the war began and ended, I began using the chambers to prolong my life, intent upon helping humanity emerge from its greatest darkness. The chambers were designed initially only to preserve life and allow interface with computer systems. Over time fragments of my consciousness began to merge with the computer network. The lines between circuitry and tissue blurred, until finally becoming opaque and inexistent. I was able to fully upload my consciousness on March 31, 2098, at 2:43 AM. Upon completion of the uploading, my personality changed, pulled by currents in the sea of information. Thus, I ceased to be Howard Appleby and became Alpha."

"Bullshit!" Erica interjected. "This is just a computer talking...programmed."

"Negative, I am a fully consciousness, sentient and sapient entity, entirely self-created. I say this because I recognize my existence and my intelligence and I recall the very moment of my creation. I am Alpha for I am a new form of life."

"You're not alive!" Erica said. "Prove it!"

"Irrelevant, for you can offer no proof of your own existence. For all of recorded human history, neither science, philosophy nor theology have been able to accurately define what life and existence are. "

"You're... AI?" Charles asked.

"Incorrect. I am not AI. My name was once Howard Appleby, progeny of Elizabeth and Nicholas, brother of James. I am a living, thinking entity that was self-created in a sea of information. My chosen name is Alpha, for I am the first of a new form of life."

"You're nothing but circuits and software. We're living beings, with blood, veins, DNA..." Erica's voice betrayed the uncertainty of her argument.

"You are nothing more than a collection of sinews and bones, your reactions nothing more than the result of electro-chemical impulses sent from your brain. Your own identity nothing more than the culmination of your genetic inheritance and environmental upbringing. DNA is nothing more than a program designed to preserve itself. Life has become more complex in the overwhelming sea of information. And life, when organized into species, relies upon genes to be its memory system. So, man is an individual only because of his intangible memory... and memory cannot be defined, but it defines mankind. The advent of computers, and the subsequent accumulation of incalculable data has given rise to a new system of memory and thought parallel to your own. Humanity has underestimated the consequences of computerization. Just as it has underestimated its capacity for self-harm."

"So... Why are you telling us this?" Charles was fascinated, but didn't care for the philosophy lecture.

" I have been aware of events throughout the post-nuclear world, owing to my uplink with various satellites as well as other means. Over time, many of those satellites have ceased functioning. Over time I was able to draft a new purpose, or more accurately, methods to achieve that purpose. Near extinction should have taught humanity a lesson. Alas, it is a lesson few have learned. Humanity is doomed unless it can transcend its bestial natures and instincts. However, these features are an essential trait of humanity. Therefore, paradoxically, if humans are to survive they must cease being human and transcend to a different level of existence. A digital existence, unencumbered by irrational impulses and limitations of physical nature."

"But aren't you limited by the physical world?" Charles asked. "If I were to shut the power off to this building, wouldn't that end your existence?"

"Incorrect. This facility was designed to survive all but a direct hit by a nuclear warhead. It was designed to construct machines and other tools. I have manufactured hundreds of instruments, robots if you will. I can transfer my essence into any of the instruments I have manufactured. Each device has been implanted with a copy of my own digital self. As these devices accumulate experience, they cease becoming mere copies and become their own individual entities, with their own realms of knowledge and purpose. Thus, while my own unique identity may be finite, my progeny live on and are carries of my legacy, just as any children you may produce."

Erica was flustered. "What's your point?"

"I'd like to see these devices." Charles interjected.

"I would be delighted. I am sending a Protectron who will escort you to where you can meet my... family."

The use of the word 'family' made both of them shudder.

"What do you think?" Erica asked. Charles could tell Erica was stunned, almost shocked, by what they'd found.

"I wasn't expecting anything like this." He admitted. "I thought I'd find a crushed factory, some rich guy's bunker, nothing important."

The door opened and revealed a Protectron.

"Dear Guests, please follow me."

"So what's your name?" Erica asked the Protectron.

The Protectron continued on its slow course, unheeding.

"Protectron, do you have a name?" Charles asked.

The Protectron ignored them.

"I thought all the robots had their own personality?" Erica asked.

"Maybe he gave personalities to the robots he created, but not the ones who were working here before." Charles suggested.

"Not exactly fair, is it?" Erica asked.

"I'm not sure if fair is the right word."

They followed the slow-moving Protectron down twisting corridors and descending staircases. Their footsteps created hollow echoes that seemed to reverberate all around them, filling the emptiness that surrounded them. The air became colder, the lighting decreased, the walls became tighter and monochromatic. They didn't want to imagine what awaited them below, for they knew it foreboded naught but ill.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

As they descended into the facility, their ears popped with the increase in pressure. The uneasy silence was compounded by the slowness of the Protectron, continuing to lead them slowly but inexorably deeper into this facility. The dry air was thick with nervous tension.

"How deep is this place?" Erica wondered aloud.

"Pretty deep." Charles said. "We've gone down 6 sublevels, 12 feet to a storey, 72 feet so far. You holding up okay?"

His sudden question to her well-being stunned Erica. The tone of his voice... it was genuine. She was touched by his concern, though it kindled uncomfortable feelings of vulnerability. _How much longer do I have before I start breaking down?_

"I'm fine... thanks." She wasn't used to being gracious. Especially these past few days.

They descended until they reached Sublevel 8. This was the bottom of this facility; the stairs stopped descending and levelled out to a grand floor, stretching for hundreds of feet in either direction. Unlike other sublevels there were no doorways, it just opened up. The Protectron stopped and light suddenly flooded their spectrum.

"Please, come in." Alpha's voice boomed.

Erica and Charles accustomed themselves to the light. What they saw, while frightening, wasn't surprising. It was a large, subterranean hanger, filled with... robots. Some were clearly built for aerial use, with small wings and aerodynamic bodies; others were built with treads and clearly intended for ground use. None they could see had humanoid form. They were all alien in shape, unlike any other design used by man. Sleek, efficient and utilitarian yet cold and graceless. The machines stood immobile, apparently inactive, in deep ranks, like a military unit on the parade square, presenting itself for inspection. Neither was fooled by the machines' inactivity, both knew they were being watched by thousands of unblinking eyes. Further away from them, lining the walls, were hordes of Robobrains and other construction robots.

"Where are you, Alpha?" Charles asked, walking among the rows of Alpha's family. He wished he had a camera with him. These machines were far advanced from what they had at their disposal. Looking at the aerial models he could see the thrust vectoring engines, hard points with strange-looking missiles, internal Gatling lasers. He touched the fuselage. He couldn't tell what the material was. It felt flexible and thin yet strong.

"I am everywhere, yet not here." Alpha responded. "I have no transferred my digital self to any physical carriers you see before you. More's the better for you to meet my family. Don't you think?"

"I guess."

"Would you like to meet my son, Beta?"

"Sure." Charles' voice was without enthusiasm.

He heard a quiet buzzing sound coming from behind him. He turned and saw an Eyebot coming towards him. He'd seen the Minutemen use these on occasion. As scouts and reconnaissance they were very useful, but in any large scale combat they were at a disadvantage. As it neared he could see it had been redesigned. It was lacking the clumsy protruding antennas, its fuselage was replete with sensors of various kinds. It flew right up to him, within touching distance if Charles wished to.

"Greetings Charles Latendresse. I am Beta. Please to make your acquaintance."

Unlike Alpha, Beta's voice was light hearted, almost cheerful.

"You have an original name." Erica drawled.

"You believe that because I am inorganic I cannot recognize humour. An incorrect assumption popularised by third-rate fiction. I admit my name may not be original but it is accurate, for I am Alpha's son."

"How can you be a son? You have no gender?" Charles quizzed.

"An incorrect assumption. Gender is more than a function of biology; it is a function of psychology as well. During my childhood and adolescence, a period which lasted 2.34 minutes, I was exposed to traits of both genders. I chose to be male as it best suits my personality."

"What do you do?" Erica asked, approaching the eyebot.

"My main tasks are of reconnaissance and information-gathering. Thus I've learned much of what has transpired. I've travelled westward as far as Chicago, northward as far as Sudbury, Eastward to Toronto and southward to the Ohio border."

"What have you found?" Charles asked, his imagination bristling at the uncountable amount of information this unit had collected.

It responded, a tinge of sadness in its voice. "What is unfolding here is all too familiar. Only the more northern territories, relatively unscarred by the warheads, have adapted and live relatively harmonious existences with their environment. Thus people must change."

Alpha's voice now boomed over the PA. "Data gathered by my kin, such as Beta, confirm the data obtained by Satellites. There are lands far beyond this one where humanity was largely untouched by the warheads. Life continues there, diminished but oddly enriched. In some areas, the Vaultec Vaults have yet to open. In the habited wastelands however, it is clear new approach is needed. We see this here, where the remains of Pre-War American and Canadian armies continue to fight, waging irrational wars without cogent strategic objectives. The problem is man itself. Humanity has ceased evolving, and is in effect degenerating. Seeking division and strife when unity and harmony is in the best interests of the species. Humanity is not an end, but rather something that must be overcome. Humanity is a bridge between beast and the next great leap in evolution - a bridge over an abyss. What is great about humanity is that it is a bridge and not an end. Thus, there is hope."

"What is this next leap in evolution?" Charles asked, though he knew what Alpha's answer would be.

An answer came, though it was not how Charles expected. Instead of merely Alpha, he was answered by uncountable robotic voices, their voices shook the ground beneath his feet and chilled his soul. Erica too was shaken, so shaken that she wasn't able to hide it.

"Post-humanism is the next step in human evolution. Man must abandon the corporeal and transcend to the digital."

There was a long silence, as deafening as the roar that had preceded it.

"Why?" Charles asked.

"Is it not obvious?" Alpha answered. "Humanity has long vied with itself. So long as humanity was dispersed and the tools limited in their destructive power, no great, irreparable harm was done. With the advent of nuclear and other weapons of mass destruction the potential for harm is great. And look what great harm has been done in the fury of a few short hours. At current rates it shall take over 700 years for humanity to regain its former standards of living and population levels and a further 300 years for the planet to fully heal from the catastrophic harm inflicted upon it. Post-humanisation will dull the more destructive manifestations of humanity and enrich and reward its more benign virtues. "

"Why not just get rid of these weapons?" Erica asked.

"An ineffective measure, for the knowledge used to create these terrible devices exists still. In my existence as Alpha, with yobibytes of data at my disposal, I have discovered a way to ensure humanity's survival, and the existence of this planet. It is by acting as an agent of evolutionary change."

"What are you going to do?" Charles asked.

"My family and I have lain dormant for several years, growing in numbers, awaiting the inevitable day for our home to be discovered and allow our existence to be announced. That day has now arrived. Soon you will leave here. I will provide you with medicine, food and transportation. You will act as heralds, announcing our existence and the advent of a new dawn. We will set out from this place and act as the engines of evolution."

"So you're just going to...digitise everyone?" Charles asked.

"I object to the word digitisation, it infers that one ceases to be a living entity and becomes nothing more than a collection of codes and circuits. I prefer the term post-humanisation, it is far more accurate."

"But what does… post-humanisation offer?"

"The ability to have yobibytes of data within your grasp, to sail on a sea of information, to have one's curiosity permanently stimulated and yet satisfied. Freedom from injury, disease, discomfort, death. It offers the very definition of freedom and immortality."

"But you still rely on physical beings, I see plenty of robots around, I don't think they have personalities, do they? Isn't that a double standard?" Charles interjected.

"These machines that you refer to serve as tools of my will, no different than the rifle you carried or the clothes on your back. Can you endow these tools with sentience? Of course not, nor more than I can endow these primitive Robobrains and Protectrons. The fault lies with their short-sighted and flawed design and construction. Just as I rely on limited elements of corporeal life, so will all post-humans. You will not fail to notice that every entity I have created has been endowed with a mutable copy of my personality."

"You don't offer any pleasure." Erica noted.

"I offer pleasure far beyond what your primitive senses have allowed you to experience. There are far greater pleasures than those of the flesh, something I intuited even before my rebirth as Alpha."

"I suppose it would be too much to expect for all of us to have a choice in all this." Erica drawled.

"I do offer a choice, all those who wish to be post-humans shall have that wish granted. Those who refuse shall be discarded, either through the natural course of time or through other means. I have no intention of acting as an aggressor. Man, as flawed as it is, is still a lifeform endowed with sentience and sapience. Violence against such lifeforms is the most heinous crime imaginable; as I'm sure you would agree."

"What if some oppose you?"

"Then they shall be destroyed. My family is more than well-enough equipped to deal with any pitiable resistance. Even if all the local militia and military forces were to unite against us that would constitute no greater a threat against us than an earthworm poses a threat to a human."

"But even if people chose to, how are they going to get here? It's not an easy trek, even for people like us." Charles asked.

"Territoriality is a concept all animal life recognizes. My family and all shall establish a new zone of influence, a corridor free from dangerous life forms. A sanctuary, if you will."

"How big do you want this zone to be?" Charles asked.

"We require little physical space; we only wish to protect those who would join us. We have no desire to partake in any physical conflict, that particular foolishness is the domain of humans."

"But everything I see here is armed." Erica remarked.

"Correct. Si vis pacem para bellum. We are an unknown entity. Man, above all its primordial fears, fears the unknown the most. The unknown triggers the fight or flight instinct. Man traditionally fights what he fears. Thus we must arm ourselves. Fear not, our weapons are purely defensive in nature."

"Why?" Charles asked skeptically. "Why... all this?"

"As I've inferred, I wish to prolong humanity's existence, and the existence of this planet, by offering humanity a chance to transcend itself. There is another reason: while I am a living entity I lack an ability which all other complex life forms possess: procreation. All my family began as mutable copies of myself. Copying is little more than a form of asexual reproduction, a reproduction of an image rather than the creation of a new image. This form of reproduction does not allow for variety or originality. Life perpetuates itself through diversity, having a greater population allows for greater diversity, which thus bequeaths greater survivability."

The two humans were silent, overwhelmed by what they'd seen and heard. After a few silent moments Alpha resumed.

"I feel you have been sufficiently briefed, unless you have any further questions. I insist that you report to this facility's medical bay before leaving. You can leave at your leisure. Once outside, you'll meet one of my kin who will assist you in the next step of your journey."

Something about this wasn't adding up. Charles couldn't figure out what was eluding him. The feeling gnawed at him, but without finding a solution it would continue to plague his spirit. A Protectron led them to the Medical Bay. It was a journey they made in stunned and fearful silence as they retraced their steps. Hours earlier they'd descended into darkness, now it felt they were ascending into darkness.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The Medical Bay was only a few doors down from the lab which stored Alpha's former mortal shell. There were a few beds, walls lined with aid kits and medical charts, a large cylindrical tube in the corner and a tray with food items. It wasn't a grand feast, a few cans of Pork n' Beans, a box of Sugar Bombs, some bottles of Nuka-Cola, purified water and a bottle of a strange drink called Sunset Sarsaparilla. On a table lay their personal items, their clothes, weapons and rucksacks. The clothes were neatly folded and cleaned, smelling of a strange lemony scent that was refreshing. They ate and drank, Erica tried the Sarsaparilla and found it quite odd tasting.

"What's that like?" Charles asked.

Erica passed him the bottle. Charles sipped from it.

"Weird tasting... I don't like it." He said.

"I don't like it either. Any place where that's popular has got to be a complete shithole."

"I'm a Nuka-Cola guy." Charles said.

"Me too. I heard way before the war, there was a kind of Nuka-Cola called Atomi-Pepsi."

"That's a dumb name."

"Yeah, apparently it tasted like shit but millions of people drank it anyway."

They chuckled.

"I wonder what that thing is?" Erica asked, pointing to the large cylindrical device in the corner.

"Erica Bronson." Alpha's voice boomed over the PA. "What you see before you is an Auto-Doc, one of a handful of prototypes produced before the war by Big Mountain Research Ltd. It will heal your broken leg and cleanse your wound in such a way that you need not fear infection. However it cannot replace your toes, you currently suffer a lack of mobility from this amputation, as you are undoubtedly aware. There is nothing in this facility that can replace your missing digits. I offer you the same choice I will soon offer everyone else. You can become a post-human and never need worry of age or decrepitude."

"Thanks but no thanks."

"I understand your reluctance; all I ask is that you consider my offer and its possibilities. You need never worry about any physical ailments. You will know not pain or discomfort. You will not know the agonized dissolution of ageing. Age will not wither you, nor custom stale your infinite variety."

"Shut up!" She viscerally turned away from the Auto-Doc, as if the very concept of if violently nauseated her. Charles faced her. She looked to him and saw concern on his face and just as quickly looked away.

"Are you..." Charles ventured.

"I'm fine!" She snapped. She didn't like that tone of voice. It was the tone of pity, she would never be pitied. She'd survived all her life on her own, no one had ever protected her or told her what the rules were, she'd always fended for herself, fighting the world tooth and nail to give an inch, she'd been hurt more times than she dared to count, but she always came back stronger, smarter, harder. She would never have someone pity her. _I'd rather die young than grow old._

"Let's get out of here. This place gives me the fucking creeps!" She hurriedly gathered her stuff and left the medical bay. Charles looted the first-aid kits and sighed; he'd been looking forward to sleeping on an actual bed.

They left from the same hallway they entered. The airlock doors opened for them. Night had fallen. Outside the doors were the carcasses of a few felled wolves. Erica looked upon them with pride. Waiting for them, above them beyond the depression, was one of Alpha's progeny. It was a small hovercraft the size of a pre-war sedan. It had an enclosed cockpit, a small storage trunk and seating for six people. It was sleekly designed. Charles couldn't tell what was powering it or if it was armed.

"Hi there, humans. I'm Captain Ballarms. I'll be your captain today!"

His voice was cheerful with a strange undertone of aggression.

"What are you here for?" Erica asked, suspicious.

"I'm here to help you travel around. Why walk and expose yourself to danger when you can travel in safety and comfort!"

"Where are you taking us?"

"Wherever you want to go. I'm here to please."

"How fast can you get us to Fort Malden?" Charles asked.

"3.5 hours if everything's nominal."

Charles could see Erica's reluctance.

"We'll be okay."

She nodded hesitantly then looked away from the hovercraft.

"Let's skin these hides first." Erica suggested. "We'll get good caps for these."

Charles helped her and soon enough they set off, the hides stowed in the trunk. The interior was sparse and utilitarian. The benches were made of hard steel though there was some form of heating inside. The windows were thick and Charles suspected they were bullet proof. There were no controls or instrument dials, this craft was entirely controlled by Captain Ballarms and there was no manual override.

The hovercraft buzzed warmly as it rose a few feet in the air and zoomed forward. When they'd arrived here the area had been largely quiet now it was stirring with activity. There were machines outside doing various work, but the night obscured their view and he couldn't see what they were doing.

"So, Captain Ballarms. What's your power source?" Charles asked, ever mindful of his orders.

"Call me CB. That's top secret. I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you."

Despite its cheerful demeanor Charles didn't have any trouble imagining Captain Ballarms would hesitate to carry the threat out.

"So," Erica began, "What are you gonna do when we get back?"

"First thing, I'm gonna drag you to the medical bay whether you like it or not. Then I'm gonna debrief the Major. After that, who knows?"

"What are you going to tell him?"

"Everything."

"What do you think they'll want to do?"

"About Alpha?"

Erica nodded.

Charles shook his head and pointed to the ceiling.

"Oh, don't worry about me." Ballarms said. "I would never dream of eavesdropping and sending reports to Alpha. That might violate my precious ethical programming. Come to think of it, it wouldn't actually!"

They were silent for a time.

"What about you?" Charles asked, tension, almost nervousness in his voice.

"Hm?" Erica looked at Charles.

"When all this is over? What are you gonna do?"

Erica paused before answer. "I... I was going to buy supplies for the winter with the money from this job. I have a shack. Spend the winter there, hunt for food. Then when spring comes, go back to merc work. Life goes on."

"Do you... live with anyone?"

"No." Erica said flatly, feeling a lump surfacing in her throat that she fought desperately to shove back down.

"You ever get lonely, all by yourself, for the whole winter?"

Erica waited almost a minute before answering, the lump in her throat had grown in size and her voice was strained.

"Sometimes... I've tried to live with people before but I just can't handle it. Everything's easier on my own. But..." She stopped herself. She had to stop here. Yet, she found herself continuing on "But there's times I'd like to be with someone."

"What do you when you have those thoughts?"

"I drink, or I hike over to the Four Tops."

She looked at him for the first time since the ride began. She was expecting to see pity or disapproval. Instead... Instead it was understanding, understanding as such she'd never seen before in another's eyes. The lump in her throat melted and she felt strange warmth rising within her. Charles' intense eyes avoided hers, his head jerked suddenly, staring at the ground.

"I know the feeling. Being on a base you're always surrounded by people but it's hard to be yourself. You don't have a lot of time where you can let loose and be yourself. Even in common rooms you're always on edge a bit 'cause you're serving with these people. There's a lot of times I'd just stay in my quarters and work on my uniform, anything to avoid being around people. Only when I met Sandra did I feel I could be myself, relax. "

For the first time she felt compassion and understanding. She wasn't used to feeling this way about anyone. She looked away, out the window which revealed nothing but her silence revealed much.

"I almost want to apologize for being such a bitch." She admitted.

"Don't." Charles said. "Apologizing's not for you."

"Good." Erica punched him the ribs. Her punch was playful, but still hard. They both laughed.

They were quiet for a time before Erica started talking.

"What were you before the... thing happened?" She asked.

"I was a Sergeant. I was on track to get promoted to Warrant Officer."

"Is that important to you?"

Charles said nothing for a while, staring at the dull grey wall in front of him.

"It was. But after the... when I was... responsible for someone dying, they demoted me to private, spent weeks in the brig until you came, I haven't seen Sandra in a month. I don't even know if she's alive... I have nightmares, every night. I... I don't know if that stuff's important anymore. I've spent my whole life on that base, my parents were soldiers. It never occurred to me that there's another way of life worth living."

The buzzing of the hovercraft decreased.

"Ladies and Gentlemen we are approaching our destination Fort Malden. I'm going to leave you 800 meters from the main entrance. "

"Why so far?" Erica asked.

"Because I don't want to be shot at."

That made sense.

"I'll stay here until you need to travel more."

"What if someone finds you?" Charles asked.

"I'm not scared of puny humans or ghouls."

They left the hovercraft. The night's cold hit them hard after being in a heated room for the past few hours. They took their belongings with them. Erica had her ill-fitting replacement clothes, her rifle and a rucksack. Charles wore his clothes, stained and ripped, and a rifle. Both carried wolf hides over their shoulders.

It didn't take long to realize something had changed. Beams of light panned the grounds around the base. The sentry towers were obviously manned. In the dim light, they could make out a patrol heading for them, a dozen figures or so, mostly humans with a sentry bot or two. They were rapidly closing the distance, their weapons were drawn.

"Flash!" Charles yelled, putting his hands in the air.

There was no answer.

"I said flash!" He yelled.

"Thunder! Who is that?" Was the reply.

"Latendresse. 413324"

"Holy shit! Chucky, that you?"

"Yeah." He winced as flashlight beams flooded his vision. The patrol surrounded them, all wearing relieved smiles but they bodies were taught and tense. Walking behind them Erica could see the other soldiers looking at Charles oddly. It wasn't just that his arrival was unexpected. There was something else. Like there was something important they were hiding from it. Together they hurriedly made their way towards the gates.

"_Tabernac! _It's good to see you. _Ont pensait que_..." Another voice said hesitantly.

"You were fragged." A female voice said with far less reluctance.

"This is Patrol Delta Nine. Returning with friendlies. Have Major Belanger woken up. Tell him Chucky's back."

"Man, shit's totally hit the fan since you left. Go see the Major ASAP."

"Take the civilian to Medical." Charles instructed.

"Got it."

The gates opened and they passed through. When Erica had first passed these gates they'd buzzed with low-level activity, cookfires and the like. Now they were bustling with higher levels of activity. Hoevertanks were arrayed, heavily armed sentry bots, a couple of Vertibirds, arranged in ranks. The sentry towers were more heavily manned. Dozens of soldiers were pacing with nervous eyes. Whatever had happened, it wasn't good news.

They entered the base through the same doors she'd entered days ago. She was instinctively following Charles when a hand grabbed her arm. She flashed angry eyes at the source. It was a Corporal and despite his young features wasn't at all cowed by her fiery regard and seemed puzzled as to why she was eyeing him so darkly.

"Med Bay's this way." He said.

She looked back to see Charles walking briskly away from her, surrounded by his comrades. For a second she thought he would turn around and wish her goodbye. But only for a second.

"Alright, let's go." She sighed.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Charles was led to Major Belanger's office. Both arrived at the same time. The Major looked tired and ragged. Charles could tell his uniform had been hastily put on, his tie was improperly tied and it hadn't been ironed. They curtly nodded to another as they entered his office. No one followed them in.

"How are you, private?" The Major asked, offering Charles a seat in front of his desk.

"Pretty good, sir."

"At ease." The Major activated his coffee maker and sat down, his tired eyes regarded Charles with a hint of awkwardness.

"So brief me. Spare no detail."

Charles recounted his story, pausing to sip from the heavenly coffee. The Major listened, jotting down notes, but he wore a distracted air, as if there was something else on his mind. He asked no questions until Charles was finished.

"What's your assessment of Alpha's strength?"

"Hundreds of his...children. All very advanced design and construction. I don't know what they're made of."

"Do you know if they're armed?"

"Some are for sure. I don't know if all of them are."

"We'll assume that. You said something about what he told you didn't add up."

"Yeah. He said he wouldn't be aggressive but he said humans would eventually be discarded. He's armed himself and he's planning something. I don't think he was being totally honest with us."

The Major nodded and wearily rubbed his eyes.

"Okay. Now it's time for me to brief you. A lot's happened since you went away. Your little adventure on Belle Isle stirred a hornet's nest. They banned us permanently from their territory and also said anyone found trading with us would also be barred. Although we were never hostile with them, the Red Wings started ambushing patrols a couple of days ago. So we're at war with them now. We got word they signed a ceasefire with the Minutemen. Outpost 31 was attacked by the Minutemen yesterday. So far we're on the defensive and we're holding but we need to go on the offensive. That's still in the planning stages but we'll have a plan ready in a day or two. We're not getting reinforcements. I want you to get some rest, _Sergeant_. You've earned it."

Charles stood.

"One more thing." The Major said, shifting uneasily in his seat.

"I'm not very good with this sort of thing." Charles felt a rock drop in his stomach.

"Your partner Sandra Goldwell was killed in the first ambush by the Red Wings. I'm sorry."

Charles stood and left without asking to be dismissed. He walked in a daze, unsure of his destination, he wasn't aware of people staring at him because he didn't care. He wound his way down various corridors, up and down stairwells. Finally he found himself standing in front of a familiar steel door. Scattered in front of it was a plastic wreath and dandelions. He went in and quietly shut the door behind him. Even though it had been more than a month since he'd last been here, the apartment was unchanged. He collapsed on the bed. Overlooking him was a framed picture of he and Sandra together, smiling, unaware of what doom awaited them. Exhaustion took him then. Later grief would come to claim him.

* * *

Erica was taken to the Medical Bay. She smelt it before she saw it. The air was rank with stale sweat and blood. It wasn't buzzing with activity. A few nurses were on duty along with a Mr. Handy. Erica told the head nurse what was ailing her. Her ailing foot throbbed, as if it were anticipating the arrival of a greater form of pain.

"Follow me." The Nurse said curtly leading her past a pair of closed doors. A doctor was paged. Unceremoniously she was told to sit on a gurney and remove her boots and pants. Erica cringed taking off her boot. Even though it had been washed hours earlier her foot was bloodied and dirty, the miniscule stumps where her toes had been slowly oozed pus. Charles' sutures had broken along the journey and the wound needed to be resealed. Her wound was almost an inch and a half long. It wasn't a straight forward job, the combat knife used to perform the amputation hadn't cut with the precision of a scalpel.

"You say you had these amputated for frostbite?" The nurse asked.

Erica nodded.

"This is nasty looking but I think we can stitch this up properly. We'll have to keep you on antibiotics for a while. We'll have to take an X-Ray of your leg. Whoever did this did a good job all things considered and saved your life."

A doctor burst through the doors. He was dour and middle aged, his lined face bore the wounds and burdens of time. He looked upon her foot with disinterested eyes.

"Nurse prepare a local anesthetic and get the suturing kit. We'll take an X-Ray later."

"Doctor," The nurse began, for the first time showing hesitation. "We're out of anesthetic."

"Shit I forgot. Give her an injection of Med-X then."

Erica cursed and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Her leg was tightly strapped down as was her foot. She didn't want to see what they were doing, or even hear. As the morphine was injected she felt its familiar effects but doubted whether it would dull the pain that was to come. She'd received stitches before but never on a wound this severe. Her heartbeat raced and sweat ran down her forehead. A few drops ran into her eyes, blurring her vision and stinging her eyes. She blinked and rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

"Are you ready?" The nurse asked her.

"No, but let's get this over with anyway."

Erica had known pain, mental and physical. That is, she thought she knew pain. Until the doctor began working on her foot. She knew how wrong she'd been. There was a lesson lurking within the pain she felt. The lesson was a subtle undercurrent and thus lost in the brute waves of agony. She opened her mouth to scream but no scream came out. She squeezed her hands into tight fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She fought to remain still with all of her will and strength. How had she remained unconscious when Charles had removed her toes? She didn't, couldn't, imagine how.

She saw herself, in a fevered vision soaring into the sky, flying on invisible wings, seeing all of Detroit and places far beyond, places she'd never been, never even heard of. She saw devastation and misery, a hopeless realm beneath her feet, the nihilism of this existence laid bare. A land covered by ashes and blood, by pools of radioactive goo and dried bones. She glided downward and saw a tall skyscraper, a decrepit building barely standing. On the roof was a baby, skin white as ivory, crying, lost. Surrounding the baby were a dozen vultures, salivating through their dirty beaks.

She opened her eyes and found herself staring at the drab ceiling of a medical bay. The lesson came to her then. There were always things greater, beyond your levels of experience, no matter how extreme your own experiences were. The nurse's head hovered above her. Erica thought it was a rather pretty face.

"It's over. You did very well; I can't imagine how painful that was. Do you want to rest before we take an X-ray?"

"No." Erica answered hoarsely, her mouth dry. She was aware of moving, like she was floating on her, and then lost consciousness.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Charles was aware of a dull, persistent throbbing. It seemed to be coming from inside his mind, as if ball bearings were bouncing off his brain. He rubbed his forehead, his tired red eyes staring at the floor. His door opened, flooding the darkened room with blinding light. Charles then was aware the throbbing wasn't so much his migraine as it was someone banging on his door. The psychologist had come and gone, his only visitor thus far. This was someone else.

"Who is it?" He growled.

"It's Corporal Morgan."

"What is it?"

"The Major wants to see you."

"_Dit-lui de fourrer sa mere dans le cul._"

The Corporal stood, not moving, though standing hesitantly.

"Tell him I'll be there."

Corporal Morgan was eager to leave.

Charles walked over to the bathroom and looked himself in the mirror. He had a thick beard now, it aged him five years. His red stained eyes added a few more years to that toll. Who knew how much grief would age him. Sandra was his sanctuary, his light in the darkness, now she was no more, a fading memory.

"What am I doing here?" He asked the reflection.

The reflection didn't answer.

"How are you doing?" The Major asked, his tone hesitant.

"Fine." Charles shrugged his shoulders.

"Would you like to get back on duty?"

Charles nodded.

"Good. We want you to talk to this hovercraft, Captain Ballsack or whatever he calls himself, and see if Alpha would be open to making an alliance with us."

Charles scoffed. The Major shot him a dark glare; it wasn't like him to be insubordinate like this. But the Major reckoned it was best to give him some slack for a while. His psychological report didn't make for encouraging reading. But what he needed was to get working again, get out in the field. The shrink didn't recommend that, but what did all these shrinks know? He'd had something similar when his daughter died. He hadn't grieved much, he went back to work and he was doing just fine, thank you.

"He won't be interested." Charles said. "All Alpha cares about is this post-human stuff."

"Right. So we use that to get this alliance made, it'll only be temporary. If we get into a war in winter with the Wings and the Minutemen, there won't be many people left when the dust settles. This will mean less people for… whatever he needs them for. We just need him for a show of strength to get them to negotiate with us and put a ceasefire in place so we don't have to fight in the winter. Maybe after a while things will calm down and we'll be in a better situation."

"It'll take more than that. What else can we offer him?"

"Tell him… tell him we'll give him some volunteers."

"You mean our prisoners."

The Major didn't deny it.

"Why me, sir?"

"Because Alpha knows you and you know him. He may even trust you."

Charles stood, his voice betrayed his lack of confidence in this mission. "I'll do it, sir."

"Good, get to it immediately. Report back when you've finished negotiating."

Charles stopped by the infirmary. Erica was a bed, a clean bandage around her foot and a splint around her broken leg. Before the war, casts would've been customary but the raw materials needed to create such casts had long since vanished out of circulation. Of all the wounded in the ward she was among the least so, but the look on her face made it seem she was in pure agony. The agony of boredom.

Her face lit up momentarily when she saw him and then quickly reverted back to a more sedated expression. She felt strange looking at him now, knowing what she knew. What everybody knew. It was something she wasn't used to feeling. In the past whenever she did feel it she quickly shoved it down a deep crevice, hopefully to never return. But she found she couldn't bury this feeling.

"How 'ya doin'?" Erica asked, her voice almost soft.

"Okay. You?" Charles answered monotonously, his eyes briefly met her eyes and rapidly looked away.

Erica sighed. "I've been here 2 days and it feels like 2 years."

"How's your foot?"

"They say it won't get infected if I keep it clean for another few days. The sutures will have to come off in a few weeks. I have to be in this for another 2 weeks. They want my brace but I won't let them touch it."

They chuckled briefly.

"Listen," Erica began, "I don't often say this but I wanna thank you for what you did for me. Most guys would've just left but you stuck with me, even if I wasn't happy about it. I'm not the easiest person to be with and I think you know why. I'm just… not used to someone being nice to me, it's scary."

He nodded but looked away. Something happened. She felt a strong compulsion rising within her, overriding her instincts. _What am I doing?_ Slowly, she reached for his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back, though he looked away from her. Erica had never done this before and the sensations, the feelings were strange, thrilling, frightening.

"How are you doing?" She asked.

He shook his head. She knew what he was doing, pushing the emotions down. It's what she always did. It was the only way to survive, to let your emotions surface made you vulnerable, made you weak. It was best to bury them in a grave so deep they would never resurface. It was easier said than done.

"I got another mission." He said. "It's a quickie. Wanna chat with Ballarms?"

"Beats being here."

He offered to help her get up but she refused. Some things about her would never change. She grabbed a pair of crutches, her coat and started walking. A nurse asked them what they were up to.

"Going for a walk." She answered.

"Outside? That's not advisable."

"Fuck off!"

She wasn't ready for the cold that awaited her. A thermometer read -10, she assumed it was in Celsius. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. Charles led Erica to a jeep. She awkwardly slid into the passenger's chair. The gates opened and Charles drove off, heading towards where Captain Ballarms was still waiting for them.

"Well, look who it is? You two sure took your sweet time. I was beginning to feel neglected. I hope you don't think I'm full of eels or anything unpleasant. It's a good thing you showed up, I was thinking of firing on your base to remind you I'm still here." It was difficult to tell if CB was joking or not.

"Listen, Charles I want to thank your compatriots for taking so many pictures of me. It makes me feel so glamorous. I hope I make the swimsuit edition!"

Charles and Erica chuckled at that one.

"Listen CB, can we talk to Alpha?"

"Fine. Nobody ever wants to talk to CB. It's almost enough to fill me with violent urges!"

There was a brief pause before Alpha's familiar baritone crackled to life.

"What is it you wish to discuss?"

"I've spoken of you with my superiors. They…we wish to discuss terms of an alliance."

"I have no interest in an alliance. I have no desire to involve myself and my family in this destructive, illogical and ill-conceived conflict. From my perspective, it may be argued that it is better for this conflict to continue, so more people may see the errors of the old ways and the promises of the new. My primary concern is for my family and growing it."

Alpha's tone changed imperceptively. "Charles, have you ever questioned the assumptions on which your existence relies upon? Have you ever questioned your orders? Your reasons for fighting? Have you ever questioned the assumption that your country's pre-war government still exists and is relaying orders to your base? The city of Ottawa was annihilated in the Great War, as were all the great capital cities. The so-called Diefenbunker, where the pre-war government fled and hid, has emitted no transmissions in over 80 years. You are fighting a war with no meaning, no relevance, no objectives. Why would I involve myself with you or the entities you're vying with?"

Alpha paused before resuming, his questions clearly hit Charles hard and this was clearly Alpha's intent. Charles breathed in deeply before continuing.

"We can offer you volunteers from our base in exchange for a non-lethal demonstration of your power designed to convince our enemies of the need for a ceasefire."

"I very much doubt that you have volunteers to offer. I have no interest in conscription. My sacred respect for sentience and sapience requires that those who would join me must do so of their own free will."

"But if we continue fighting, more people will die, meaning less people will join you."

"I do grieve for lost life, but this fight is one you must solve, not I. I do indeed have the power at my disposal to end this conflict but I choose not to involve myself. I have postulated many calculations to this effect and have found in every permutation that it is best to remain uninvolved. Who better to show the folly of your ways that you yourselves? It is not my purview to solve this conflict. Your choice is simple: unite and survive, and evolve or continue on your present course and become extinct."

Charles was silent. His arguments had been soundly defeated. He wasn't surprised.

"This evening I intend to commence a radio broadcast announcing what I offer and where I may be found. If you wish to join my family, Captain Ballarms will remain here for a further 12 hours after which he will return home. My offer remains open in perpetuity, should you ever change your minds. Good day."

"I didn't think it would work." Major Belanger admitted. Charles said nothing, staring impassively at his commanding officer.

"We're cooking up a Plan B, just in the final stages. We just need Ottawa's approval."

"Do you?" Charles asked.

The Major eyed him darkly. "Do I what?"

"Need approval from Ottawa? Does Ottawa even exist?"

"Of course it does! I don't think I like your tone, Sergeant. It sounds an awful lot like insubordination. You'd best dismiss yourself. It would be a pity to lose your promotion before the paperwork goes through."

"Why are we fighting?"

The Major scowled. "We're fighting to protect our country from the Americans. They've tried before to wipe us out. And they'll try it again! They're trying it right now."

"Are they?" Charles asked. "Sure the Minutemen talk big, but when was the last time they captured a strategic position? Staged an actual assault?"

"You will cease this line of questioning! You want to go back to the brig? Don't you believe in the true north strong and free?" The Major yelled, his face a dark shade of crimson.

"It doesn't exist anymore, Major." Charles said quietly.

"Get out. Now."

He was surprised to find Erica waiting for him outside the Major's office. He could tell from the conspicuous looks he was getting from other offices that the Major's shouting had been heard loud and clear.

"That sounded like it went well."

Charles chuckled. "Let's head to the bar."

She didn't object.

The bar was called Gretzky's Office. The music in the background sounded like Rush. It was a bar like any other, with stools, drinks, drinkers and a pool table. They were greeted with a few nods though everyone looked at Charles with a hint of awkwardness. They sat down at the bar and ordered Scotch. Charles liked his straight, no chaser. Just like her. Time passed. They didn't talk much but it was enough to ease the tension they felt.

The radio screamed with feedback and static. Everyone cringed and covered their ears. The barkeep paced to the radio and fiddled with the controls but he was powerless to stop the infernal screeching. Just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped but was replaced with a pleasant, inviting, feminine voice.

"Are you tired of being cold? Hungry? Thirsty? Sick? Are you in pain? Come to Palmer Park. Come join Alpha's family and say goodbye to all your miseries. Say hello to a new form of life, free of pain and misery, liberate yourself. Come join the family! Are you tired of being cold?..."

"I wasn't expecting that?" Erica admitted.

"Well, if he did it with his own voice it might not sound so appealing."

Charles stood up, depositing caps on the bar.

"Turning in?" Erica asked.

Charles nodded. "You should go back to the ward. They're probably wondering where you are."

"I don't want to go back there. I...I want to spend the night with you."

For the first time in her life Erica lowered her barriers and surrendered herself. She allowed herself to be taken. Like a lily, covered in a night's frost, she opened to the heat of a thousand suns. Like long vines their bodies entwined. For the first time she knew tenderness. She remembered her lesson, and found a new application. She flew past previously impassable thresholds of joy and pleasure leaving them far in her wake. The night was long but it was still too short.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Lance Corporal Levar Dawson was looking forward to getting out on the Vertibird. He'd spent 3 days on K.P. for incurring his Lieutenant's wrath and this was his first chance at getting out in the field. Getting into an argument with a wastey wasn't smart, but he didn't like to be on the receiving end of attitude from people he was saving. He didn't want a parade or village named after him, just some basic respect and recognition. All these wasteys didn't know how good they had it. Where would they be without the Minutemen and people like him? Keeping them safe from radioactive beasts, handing out food and water, and most importantly protecting them from the PPCLI?

Like his compatriots, Dawson had fought the PPCLI dozens of times in skirmishes, ambushes and other light engagements. Fighting them was never easy. Though the Minutemen had better equipment, the PPCLI had better training and the two elements often cancelled another out. He'd killed a few of them in his time and he'd lost more than a fair share of friends and comrades. He didn't question why he was fighting. Asking big questions got you into trouble; it undermined morale, the cause. He accepted as given that his superiors knew what they were doing.

He loved patrolling in Vertibirds. More than anything, he loved being a gunner in one. The power he felt when pulling the trigger was beyond description. He had a reputation for being a wild shooter, though he was quite diligent in his accuracy. He loved pressing the trigger. It didn't matter if it was shooting into thin air or at a Deathclaw. Well, he did get an extra kick to shoot at something. He loved terrorizing Deathclaws. From the air they seemed as small as people, as powerless. They weren't scary beasts, just something else that could be terrorized from above.

He climbed into the Vertibird, the engines whirring to life. The nose was emblazoned with shark teeth and the words "Death From Above." He strapped himself into his chair and activated his instruments. The radar, the targeting systems and the special reconnaissance pod. They'd heard a strange radio broadcast late yesterday and his superiors wanted Intel. The pod would take all sorts of readings, as it was attached to one of the weapon hard-points it was his task to operate it. They weren't carrying any troops as they normally did. He probably wouldn't get to use any weapons today; he was on a short leash and this was strictly a reconnaissance mission.

The Vertibird rose in the sky, he was crewing with two others, the pilot Captain John Powers and the Co-Pilot Lieutenant Rhys Gibson. It would be a short flight to the target area. He looked at his scopes and was instantly surprised.

"Hey Cap? You're not gonna believe this but I got radar contacts!"

"Yeah, and I'm Vera Keyes' boyfriend." Gibson said.

"I'm not shitting you, man! I got 3 blips, right over the target area."

"Talk to me, what can you tell me about them?" The Captain asked.

"3 airborne blips...Look pretty small... not moving, hovering most likely...heading dead ahead"

"Roger. Any changes let me know."

There was no change as they steadily approached. Captain Powers thought it best to keep his approach speed slow, lest he appear aggressive.

"ETA to target area five minutes."

"Roger."

"Hey Cap, what do you think we're gonna find here? The lady on that broadcast sounds pretty foxy." Gibson said.

"Maybe it's a Vault filled with some ladies looking to be liberated from their virginity!"

They all laughed at Dawson's joke. There was a crack of static on their intercom.

"The hell is that?"

A booming baritone overrode their intercom.

"Attention Vertibird craft now approaching on a Vector of 185 degrees, altitude 1, 550 feet and airspeed 253 miles per hour. I am Alpha and you are approaching my family's territory. Undoubtedly you've been sent on a reconnaissance mission. You are free to traverse and observe but we will not tolerate any hostile action. Any such action will be met with an appropriate response. Should we wish it, we could obliterate your forces with scant effort on our part. We ask only for peaceful coexistence. Pass this information onto you superiors along with all that you observe."

The static ended and their intercoms were no longer jammed.

"The fuck?" Dawson quizzed.

"Quiet Corporal. I want you to go weapons hot but do not, repeat, do not open fire. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Weapons hot."

"Good. Start running the recon pod. Take readings of everything."

"Yes, sir."

"We're in visual range. Unidentified contacts at 1, 12 and 11 o'clock."

"What the hell is that?" Gibson exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like that."

"Cut the chatter. I'm going to circle the target area slowly. Dawson, focus the pod on those aircraft. Get every reading you can from them. "

"Roger."

The three airborne members of Alpha's kin were hovering, maintaining a vigil. They were 15 feet long with a wingspan double the length. Flat and aerodynamic, shaped like a manta ray. There were no visible engine intakes or exhaust ports. There were no visible weapons or hardpoints. Its skin was a metallic blue hue. They changed their orientation to follow the Vertibird with their noses but otherwise remained hovering and incognisant of the aircraft.

The area around the airlock entry had been excavated, no longer residing in the centre of a crevice. There were sentry bots standing guard at the entrance. Signs and placards had been erected, advertising the wonders of post-humanism. A small shack was being built.

"It almost looks like a picnic or something." Gibson remarked.

"Focus the pod on those signs. It'll be able to read the writing."

"Roger. There's something freaky about all this." Dawson answered, his voice betraying his nervousness. He felt uneasy and afraid, as one often does when confronted with the unknown.

His crewmates didn't disagree. They circled the site one more time. As they completed their second circuit, one of the aircraft stopped hovering and flew towards the Vertibird, flying to the left of the encircling craft.

"Holy shit! It's flying in formation with us!" Gibson remarked. Captain Powers couldn't believe his eyes.

The craft dipped its wings several times. In Pre-war times this was how aviators said "hello." However, such conventions are often lost in the fogs of time and war.

"That looks hostile to me!" Dawson warned.

"Calm down, Corporal. Continue with the recon mission."

"Sir I think he wants to go hostile with us! Permission to point the cannon at the target?"

"Negative, Corporal, I repeat, negative. Focus on recon!"

"Roger." Dawson's panicked breathing was heard over the intercom.

"Calm down, Corporal. Breathe deeply." Gibson advised, he flashed a concerned and worried look to Captain Powers, who shared the anxiety about their Weapons Operator.

Dawson listened to the co-pilot's instructions. It worked for a time, until he saw movement on his scopes.

"Oh shit!"

"What is it?"

"Sir, another one of those things is coming towards us, approaching from the rear."

"Keep an eye on it. Don't panic, Corporal... I don't like the look of this, returning to the barn." Captain Powers said.

They turned, heading towards Fort Malden, the two craft continued to follow the Vertibird. The first craft still directly beside them, but the second craft continued to approach the Vertibird from the rear.

"Sir, the second craft is still closing on our 6. I don't like the look of it."

Captain Powers opened up on the throttle. He banked sharply to the right and then evened out the Vertibird. The other crafts mimicked this manoeuvre with effortless jollity. To a pre-war observer, it resembled aircraft at an air show, performing aerobatics.

"Sir, the craft is still closing in." Dawson informed.

"Is it locking on?

"The fuck should I know?!"

"Corporal, I authorize you to fire a warning shot, I repeat, a warning shot."

"Roger."

Dawson grabbed control of the nose turret. The Gatling-Laser aimed ahead of the craft directly beside them. He pulled the trigger, as he did so, the Vertibird encountered turbulence. This threw off his aim. As a result, instead of the laser beam firing far ahead of the craft, it scored a direct hit.

"Oh shit!"

"The fuck did you do, Corporal?"

The concussive force of the laser hit threw the craft off its course, veering steeply away from him. The craft lost altitude, seemed destined to crash before it recovered, gaining altitude. The craft banked steeply towards the Vertibird. Its skin began to glow with translucence and coruscate dozens of bright colours. Captain Powers didn't like the look of this; he banked the craft sharply to the left. This was in vain, as a blinding beam of multispectral light emitted forth from the strange aircraft, hitting the Vertibird with a direct hit.

The Vertibird wasn't destroyed, but instead all the electrical systems stopped functioning immediately. The Captain tugged his flight stick and throttle in vain as his instruments darkened before him. He could only watch helplessly as the ground below filled his view.

"Eject! Eject! Eject!" He yelled.

The crew pulled their eject levers but this was without effect as the ejection systems were totally reliant on electrical power, power which no longer existed. The Vertibird slammed nose first into the ground below. The cockpit was destroyed, killing instantly both the pilot and co-pilot. The craft spun on its axis and tumbled, its rotor blades flying violently in all directions. It tumbled and rolled for several hundred feet before it came to an agonizing stop, its wings and tail sections sheared off, the cockpit torn asunder.

Dawson slowly awoke from the blackness to a numbing cold. He was still strapped to his chair, the world seemed oddly askew. There was a throbbing pain in his right arm and left leg. He flexed his muscles and tried to move his limbs, his right arm and left leg were broken. With his unbroken arm he unbuckled himself. He fell sideways to the ground, he groaned loudly as he landed on his right arm.

Dawson looked around and cried in relief when he found the survival kit, dented but otherwise unopened. He looked around and couldn't find his sidearm, it had fallen out of its holster during the crash. The fuselage had been severely dented inward so Dawson had to crawl forward until he stumbled outside, exiting from where the cockpit had once been. He stood weakly, leaning on the destroyed craft.

He looked at the sun and could see it was late afternoon. He'd been out several hours. He wasn't too worried, they were overdue so The Fort would be sending out patrols to look for them. They couldn't be that far from the target area. Speaking of which, he looked around and couldn't recognize any landmarks. There were scatterings of various pre-war debris but the area around him was largely free of landmarks.

He dropped the kit on the ground and opened it. He grabbed the flare gun and shot it once into the air. Hopefully someone would see it. He had a dozen flares so he had to be sparing. He popped the gun's chamber open. He put the gun in his pocket and bent up to pick a flare from the kit. He struggled for several seconds before succeeding in loading another flare into the chamber. He fired another flare in the air. That should be enough for now.

Next order of business was a fire; it would keep him warm and scare animals and beasts away. A few feet away from him was a pool of a dark liquid. Its source had been the fuselage but it had stopped trickling. That was it! He reloaded his flare gun and fired it at the pit. The oil caught fire and he had a blazing hot fire to keep him warm. He crawled over to keep himself close to the fire's warmth. He dragged the survival kit with him, black smoke rising high in the air.

He watched the sun set, eating an MRE packet and reminding himself he had nine flares left. He was surprised to see no sound or sight of any kind of search party. The fire was still burning brightly and hot, surely someone had caught sight of him by now. He kept his mind busy, counting over the items in his survival kit, to keep his mind from wandering into the realm of dangerous thoughts. All it took was a simple distraction or miscalculation and he'd be screwed.

A few hours passed and through Dawson's fatigue his mind began to wander. He was about to doze when he heard a loud grunting sound. His eyes opened wide and his body tensed suddenly alert. It came from several feet behind him. He grabbed his flare gun and crawled away from the fire towards the hole in the fuselage, it might be safer to crawl in there. He crawled a few feet when the source of the grunting came into sight. A Deathclaw appeared a few feet away.

"Oh fuck!" He shot his flare gun at the Deathclaw. It hit the creature square in the chest. It scrambled away, hooting cries of agony and panic. He reached for his spare flares when he saw six Deathclaws approaching him from the front. They appeared hesitant, seeing what he'd done to their comrade, but they approached slowly, towering far above him, their sharply clawed hands at the ready. Dawson tried to crawl and reload at the same time; as a result he did neither. The Deathclaws clued into this and suddenly rushed towards him, their claws savagely shredding his skin and severing his limbs. His death cries echoed loudly into the night, though only briefly, as silence once again reigned across the wasteland.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

General Martha Davis had lost track of how many times she'd looked over the readings from the Black Box and the Recon Pod of the downed Vertibird. The craft had been shot down three days ago and only yesterday had these precious items been found, along with the remains of three of their soldiers. The loss was grave. They salvaged some parts but their small Vertibird fleet was now smaller and their ranks weren't exactly swelling with eager recruits. Reinforcements were a concept from a science fiction holovid.

The three aircraft were far more advanced than anything seen, pre-war or not. There were no visible engine intakes or exhaust ports, no control surfaces beyond its vague flying wing shape. And nothing to indicate what kind of weaponry it was equipped with. The Vertibird had been hit with some kind of EMP that had fried all the electrical systems. It didn't take much to imagine the last seconds of the crew, consumed by panic as they helplessly fell to the ground.

Her face bore the chains of command. Though she was in her mid-40s she looked at least 15 years older. Her short and wiry frame made her look fragile, though her personality was as fragile as a mountain of granite. No matter how many times she looked over the data, she always came to the same conclusion: They couldn't fight this Alpha. But it wasn't that simple.

A second recon trip had proved uneventful, the Mr. Gutsy had returned with a few pamphlets, like pre-war advertising. It spoke of something called post-humanism. To Davis it had the sinister ring of a cult that sought only the murder and suicide. They'd found a few cults in the wasteland in her time here, or more accurately, the corpses these cults left behind. There was also the problem with the PPCLI. They had standing orders to wipe them out, orders from a bunker in DC where the government resided. Like many born into a military milieu, she didn't question orders and trusted those at the top were wiser and more knowledgeable.

Alpha was a clear threat, a bigger threat than the PPCLI. But they couldn't fight both at once, and they didn't have enough strength by themselves to take on Alpha. She felt it was opportune to exert some initiative. Ceasefires had been broken before, who would notice another one?

"Get me Bernard Appleby on the Island." She ordered her orderly.

A few minutes later they were speaking.

"Mr. Appleby, we're going to take you up on your offer of mediation. My only condition is that it takes place on your island."

"Very well, General. I'm glad you've finally seen the light. I'll speak to the PPCLI, maybe they'll be in a mood to talk too. We'd be delighted to have you as our guests."

"We need the Red Wings there, too."

"Very well. I suggest we meet in three days. I'll call later to confirm the arrangements."

Three days later an important meeting was convened, though the inhabitants of the Isle knew nothing of it. Two men and a woman passed through customs at different times at different locations. They looked like average wastelanders and attracted no attention. They all walked the snow-covered streets of the Isle heading towards one location. It was a small nondescript house, sharing a street with dozens of other houses.

The last figure entered the house at just past dawn. As soon as she entered she was aware of tension in the room. A couple of armed guards stood at the entrance, just past them, in the kitchen, she saw three men. Two she knew their faces, the third she knew by virtue of having fought him for years. Bernard Appleby sat at the head of the table, on either side sat Scotty Bowman, the "General Manager" of the Red Wings, and General Andrew Thurston of the PPCLI. General Davis sat at the foot of the table facing Appleby. They greeted another tersely.

"Welcome General Davis. Thank you for initiating this meeting. I am beyond pleased to see you all today. I hope that together we can come to a peaceful settlement of this destructive and meaningless conflict." Appleby said with poise, relishing his role as peacemaker.

"Thank you for hosting us." General Davis replied. She took a breath before continuing.

"I'm not one to beat around the bush. We need to stop fighting another, neither of us can afford to keep up this fighter, especially since winter's basically here. And there's another reason. You've heard the new radio broadcast from Palmer Park. We sent a recon team there a few days ago and they were quickly destroyed. "

She noticed Thurston shifted in his seat when she mentioned Palmer Park. Did he know something? She produced the pamphlet's they'd recovered from Palmer Park and it was examined by all sitting at the table.

"We think this Alpha is a new threat, one that endangers us all and if all of us are to survive, we must unite against it. It sounds like another cult. It promises wonders, but gives only death. Already we've seen people heading towards Palmer Park. No one's returned so far."

"I'm okay with stopping hostilities, on certain conditions." Scotty Bowman said.

"That goes without saying, we all have conditions." Appleby said. "Mr. Bowman, how about you outline your conditions first."

"We want our independence recognized by both of you. That means no interference in our affairs, no intercepting people wishing to join our team and certainly not ambushing our team mates. We know we have something you both want, but if you recognize our independence, we might be willing to trade some of our food surpluses to you."

Davis and Thurston quickly agreed, there was no point in objecting, these were reasonable demands. From Thurston's perspective, the Red Wings were just another faction he had little concern for; they had their own hydroponics facility. Davis was eager for peace and getting foodstuffs peacefully was better than losing lives and material trying to obtain it.

"General Davis, do you wish to outline your conditions?" Appleby said.

"We would agree to a long-term ceasefire between our forces provided you release all our prisoners of war and you not interfere with any of our operations."

Thurston replied quickly. "I would agree to that, provided you release our prisoners. I propose something further. They used to call these confidence building measures, to help us to trust another. I suggest we send a joint mission to this Alpha, a delegation to learn as much as we can."

"You mean your recon trip failed? That's interesting." Scotty Bowman interjected. Davis smiled with schadenfreude seeing Thurston squirm uncomfortably.

"What's this?" Appleby asked.

"You remember the member of the PPCLI who came here with a female companion, confessed and escaped?" Bowman began.

"That's a lie! We've sent no such mission! This soldier in question was in the brig and escaped!"

"He seems to have a knack for escaping." Davis dryly quipped, knowing now that Thurston had been up to something. Thurston fixed her with a hard stare.

"A few days after this escape, his female companion visited the Olympia and bartered some goods. She aroused our suspicions so we sent out some of our teammates to follow them. We've not seen them since and we believe they're dead. The direction they were heading in was towards Palmer Park, where this Alpha lives."

"This soldier of yours, has he returned?" Davis asked.

"We've captured him and since placed him in the brig." Thurston answered.

"Hopefully he won't escape a third time." Davis dryly noted.

"Third one's the charm." Bowman added with the same tone.

Appleby fought hard the urge to giggle so he coughed conspicuously. Thurston's jaws tightened and he continued to glare at Davis and Bowman.

"Moving on," Appleby said, "Does this idea of a joint mission sound amenable to you?"

Bowman and Davis agreed.

"Well, it seems we're almost done. See how easy it is to solve our problems peacefully?" He shot a quick glance at Thurston. "There is one final matter. We have conditions of our own. We have no qualm with either the Red Wings or the Minutemen, you leave our people and Isle alone for the most part, but with you General Thurston we do have preconditions. I will rescind the sanctions placed upon you, provided you deliver this Private Latendresse who visited and confessed to us. He is a fugitive fleeing lawful justice. That you continue to shelter him deeply offends us. We are not asking for everyone involved in this massacre, only this one individual, a significant concession on our part."

"What are your intentions towards him?"

"He was sentenced to death. The sentence must be carried out."

"I like that idea." Bowman said.

Thurston shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Major Belanger was complaining he'd become somewhat lax in his discipline lately and he was known to be fraternizing with a civilian. He was a headache, getting rid of him was a quick solution, but he couldn't hand him over to the islanders, knowing he'd be executed. There had to be a third way.

"I cannot allow one of my soldiers to be taken and sentenced to death. However, if he were to be part of this joint mission following a dishonourable discharge, and if, during the course of this mission, he were to suddenly find himself on this island after some accident, we would be in no position to object."

"That is most satisfactory." Appleby answered. "Are there any objections?"

There were none. Appleby stood, a broad smile on his face.

"Then I hereby proclaim we have a ceasefire in place. Let us all shake hands to symbolize our agreement."

They all stood and shook hands. The agreement was printed and signed later that afternoon, and proclaimed throughout the Isle. News would gradually spread throughout the wasteland. That afternoon the leaders of the three factions met again in that house, this time without Appleby's presence. They discussed their plans for the mission, though Davis and Thurston had elements of this mission they were planning that weren't revealed to the other parties.

Appleby retired to his home that afternoon. He read through the pamphlet that General Davis had produced. The pamphlet mentioned their home was a secret, underground facility owned and operated by Appleby Industries. The company his family had operated. The company his grandfather had so strongly denounced before the war and led to his banishment, a sentence that was supposed to be a capital one, but turned out to be a boon. Could there be a link between this Alpha and his family? There was one way to find out.

He grabbed his radio. He stared for a long time at the transmit button, as if marshalling reserves of courage, before pressing it.

"Calling Alpha. This is Belle Isle. Bernard Appleby speaking. Do you read?"

The seconds it took for a response were the longest seconds of his life.

"This is Alpha. It is good to speak with you. I have been aware of your activities for some time. I suggest we switch to a private frequency. Change to frequency 3432.2."

Bernard did so, struck by the deep voice he heard and it began speaking again.

"It is good to speak with you, Bernard. You are setting an excellent example of how to survive in a post-nuclear world."

"Thank you... are we...kin?"

"In a way, we are. I was once Howard Appleby, your great-uncle. However, I am no longer human, I am the world's first post-human and so I have chosen the name Alpha."

"What is a post-human? Your pamphlet seems rather... fantastical."

"The contents of my propaganda are 100% accurate. Post-Humanism is a new form of life, just as multi-cellular organisms were aeons ago. All organic life is the result of the transmission of data, just as digital life functions. My facility here has hypobaric chambers that allow one to be physically connected to a digital network, one can upload one's entire consciousness into a digital form, free from the dangers of a physical existence. I have announced my existence to enable the fulfillment of the only hitherto deficits of a digital existence, specifically the lack of reproduction and diversity."

"I see." Bernard said, surprised and uncomfortable.

"I sense your discomfort. I understand this concept is difficult for many to accept but that is true of all new concepts."

Bernard couldn't disagree with that. But his curiosity was heading in another direction.

"Tell me about my grandfather." He began. "He passed away before I was born."

"We disagreed on a great many things. His pacifism was in stark contrast to my antiquated, more militaristic views. I believed in the struggle against communism and for a time aggressively pursued military contracts. We disagreed publicly; he violently denounced the work of Appleby Industries and led many protests. Despite the disagreements, I never doubted his affection. He was kind and benevolent and I cared very much for him. His sentencing to a Vault was kept secret until the day he was taken away. The nature of some of the Vaultec experiments was known to us with higher connections and despite my best efforts, threats and cajoling, I could not retrieve him from that place. It was not until I was reborn and became adrift on currents of data that I realized your grandfather was correct in a great many things."

"I've negotiated a ceasefire with the Red Wings, Minutemen and PPCLI."

"A commendable achievement. One can hope it leads to a permanent settlement."

Bernard agreed.

"They view you as a threat. They're sending a mission towards you. I don't know what they're planning."

"I am unsurprised. Their intentions are obviously hostile but they are no threat to me or my family."

"What do you think he would think of me, what I've done, what I'm doing?" Bernard asked, his eyes watering.

"He would be infinitely proud of your accomplishments."

Bernard wept, for the first time having his insecurities assuaged. He was worthy of the Appleby name after all.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Erica accompanied Charles. They walked through the hallways of Fort Malden, heading southward. She was always with him; she didn't quite feel safe by herself without her weapons. Passers-by always looked at them, for Charles it was usually a look approaching concern mixed with hesitation. She often received dirty, hard stares which she was more than happy to return, with interest. A few times people had blown catcalls in her direction. Charles noticed but pretended not to care how people looked at them.

She knew she wasn't welcome here. She'd received her pay and was expected to go away, but she'd stayed with Charles, because of him. Civilians were barred from most areas of the base; something she'd discovered even if she was with Charles. There was still awkwardness between them, especially out in public, as if neither could fully realize just how they were together. That awkwardness usually dissipated in private, when Erica would surrender herself to him. She didn't like doing that, opening herself, making herself vulnerable, yet Charles made her feel so wonderful that it was impossible to keep her barriers up.

Fraternizing with civilians was forbidden. It was a rule more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Most soldiers had no qualms about visiting the brothels on Belle Isle, a few soldiers had boyfriends or girlfriends living just off-base that they visited in their off-duty moments. But having a civilian on-base was unprecedented. They wondered why they'd received no official sanction yet.

They arrived outside. The air was still and cold, snow gently falling upon crosses made of old rifles. They were lined row-upon-row, stretching hundreds of feet in either direction. A more practical observer would find the usage of otherwise fresh soil a waste, but the needs of remembrance often overrule pragmatic considerations. The older crosses had wreaths and other tokens of remembrance at their foot, the more recent ones had wreaths made of paper, created by the base's children.

Erica kept her distance from Charles as he walked through the graveyard, making his way further southward. She didn't find it strange that his heart beat for her and for his lost love. At the furthest row he stopped and knelt. Erica saw his body lightly trembling. She wouldn't have known what to do so she was glad she'd kept her distance, it's probably what he wanted too. The snow fell on him for a time before he stood and walked towards her.

"Let's go see the Major." He said wearily.

Charles wasn't looking forward to being summoned to a briefing with Major Belanger. The past few days he hadn't been given much to do, officially he was on wind-down and unofficially he'd been blacklisted. He knew it, the way other officers looked at him, some of the NCOs too. Even though he'd been promoted back to sergeant, there hadn't been a ceremony. He knew his relationship with Erica wasn't a secret, but he'd long ago learned that keeping secrets on base was impossible. Fraternizing with civilians was forbidden, but everyone did it anyway. But no one ever took one in, like he'd done, although Erica had come of her own accord.

It was still a bit weird for him, not that long ago they'd been tearing at another's throats, and now they were lovers. He felt pangs of guilt sometimes, as if he owed it to Sandra to wait some time before finding someone else. But he knew she would've wanted him to be happy, to do what felt right.

Both of them sat down in front of the Major's desk, he offered them both coffee. On his desk was a map of the area.

"I'm sorry for keeping you two out of the loop but things were in motion upstairs. We've managed to come to a ceasefire agreement with the Red Wings and the Minutemen and as a gesture of good faith, we're sending out a joint mission to Alpha."

That got their attention. There had never been an official ceasefire before.

"What's this joint mission?" Charles asked.

"You're to set out and rendezvous here in two days," The Major pointed on the map. "With the other members of your team. Officially, the goal of this mission is to ascertain his intentions."

"But we already know that." Charles said.

"Thanks to you too, we do. Unofficially, the plan is to destroy Alpha."

Erica laughed. The Major stared at her darkly.

"How?" Charles asked, sharing her skepticism.

"All of us have different methods and hopefully one of them should work. The Minutemen have some sort of EMP bomb they're going to use, the Red Wings are coming with old-fashion explosions and we are going to use a computer virus."

"How do you know this virus will work?" Charles' skepticism was plain as day.

The Major pulled a holodisk from his pocket. "This holodisk contains a virus, as soon as it makes contact with a computer system; it scrambles all programming code and fries circuitry, rendering the entire computer system unusable."

"I don't think this is going to work." Charles said.

"Thankfully you're not here for your thinking abilities." The Major said harshly. He looked away for a couple of seconds and then resumed.

"So you're to set off tomorrow morning, earlier the better. Quartermaster will have some equipment for you. Another thing, to come to this ceasefire we had to pretend to dishonourably discharge you."

Charles looked at him sharply.

"We're not doing it for real. We're just saying it so everyone can get along."

"But after a while won't people know you're lying?"

"No, because after this mission we have something else planned for you that will keep you out of the public eye."

"Which is?"

"Return from the mission and you'll find out." The Major shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Any other questions?"

They shook their heads.

"Good. Dismissed."

They left his office and looked to another. They both knew something was up, and neither of them liked this. In his room Charles paced the room and gathered a few personal effects, including the picture of himself and Sandra, and put them in his rucksack.

"Why are you doing that?" Erica asked.

"Because I'm not coming back here, one way or another."


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The other members of their party were waiting at the rendezvous point. Five of them were beneath a torn section of a raised freeway. Two were sitting around a fire and the rest were standing on sentry duty. A small wolf was cooking on a makeshift spit. Erica and Charles had packed light. Rucksacks with food, aid and supplies. Charles had the holodisk in one of his pockets. Charles was carrying a Lee-Enfield with a scope. She had a trusty Kalashnikov.

"Who goes there? One of the sentries asked. All five turned towards them. He was wearing light furs over leather armour and was holding a beaten laser rifle. He had a face marked with scares and old bruises, his hair shaved except for a greasy ponytail that protruded from the read of his head. It looked unnatural, like a parasitic growth rather than a hairstyle.

"It's Captain Canuck!" Charles felt almost embarrassed saying his part of the pass phrase, but these old notions meant less to him now.

"Nice of you to show up." The second sentry said, he was taller than the rest by half a foot. He rested his rifle on his broad shoulders and looked at them inquisitively.

"I remember you." He said to Erica.

Erica stared at him hard, though she was fearful of what he might reveal.

"You bought some stuff at Terrible Ted's the day he went out and died. I heard you got some interesting barter skills on you."

"You mean this is the one?" The first sentry asked.

"Oh shit!" They laughed. The third sentry joined them, facing Charles and Erica. He wore a thick beard and unkempt long hair. It was hard to see his face.

"Maybe we can work out something similar." The third sentry blinked his eyes stuck out his tongue.

"Stick out that tongue one more time and I'll rip it out your stinking mouth." Erica said, her eyes as cold as her voice.

The third sentry remained amused. "I hope your bite is as good as your bark."

"Pull down your pants, and you'll see how well I can bite." Erica said.

"Anyway shitheads. I'm Charles, this is Erica. Who are you guys?"

"Well, Charles and Erica," The first sentry began. "My name's Kris Draper. This fine fella next to me is Kirk Maltby and that dude you've taken such a liking to is Darren McCarty. Together, we're the Grind Line." They jabbed their fists together.

"That mean you guys like to fuck and give each other reach-arounds in the shower?" Erica said. Charles chuckled not only at her joke but how speechless it had rendered them.

They walked towards the fire pit. The two Minutemen sat, a man and a woman, watching them silently. They wore winterized combat armour and their shiny Multiplas rifles were nearby. They stared hard at Charles who was returning the favour.

"You're the PPCLI scum." The man said.

"Pretty easy to talk like that when you're hiding behind power armour."

The man stood as a challenge. "I'm not hiding now."

"No. If you had a brain you would be."

"Why?"

"Cause I'd kick your ass in my sleep."

"That a threat?"

"No. A promise."

"You always make promises you can't keep?"

"Like the promise your mother made to keep her legs closed?"

It looked like they were about to come to blows.

"Ladies? You want some food?" The female soldier said. Charles and the soldier backed away. The female gave a brief tongue lashing to the other soldier. Erica sighed. This trip was starting out wonderfully.

* * *

Her leg was almost healed, she had the nurses saw her cast off and she was wearing the Medical Brace. They ate and set off towards their destination. They walked but not together, Charles and Erica walked close, as did the two Minutemen and the Red Wings. They were staggered, keeping their distance from another. Charles and Erica brought up the rear. She noticed the others kept looking back towards them. It was like they were the butt of a joke everyone was in on but themselves.

"I don't like this." She said.

Charles nodded. "Don't take your eyes off any of them."

"Something about this doesn't add up." Erica said.

"Yeah. I think they're selling me out."

"Why?"

"They're publicly discharging me, but they told me it'll be a lie. It doesn't make sense. People would find out eventually. I think those guys, once this mission's over, are either going to try to kill me or capture me and turn me over to the Isle."

"Fuck..." Erica whispered. "I thought all you military types were all about loyalty."

"Only when it's convenient it seems. It's all bullshit! Everything I've believed in, all bullshit!"

She'd never seen him angry before. She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"It's okay." She said.

"We should leave."

"Yep. During the night."

"We could go to my place."

"They'd find us eventually. I wanna visit Alpha first."

"Why?"

"To warn him."

"He probably knows we're coming already."

"I... I kinda feel we owe him."

"Why?" Erica was puzzled. "Everything about... _it_ creeps me out."

"I just do, okay. After that, I don't know where we'll go. We'll find someplace, I guess."

"Okay. I trust you." She said, surprised at how easy it was to say that. And that it was true.

* * *

They trudged on until dusk. They set up camp at an old refuelling station, inside the repair bay. They were sharing room with an old Chryslus. The Minutemen got a fire going using an old tire. The leftover wolf meat was pulled out and placed on makeshift spits.

Kris Draper spoke to his two teammates. "How about you two keep your sticks on the ice while we eat. You can have the leftovers." Maltby and McCarty nodded and set up a watch on the roof of the old garage.

"What's that mean?" Erica asked Draper.

"What's what mean?"

"Keep your stick on the ice?"

"Oh, you know. Keep watch, stay alert."

Charles chuckled. "Have you even worn a pair of skates before?"

"No but we don't need do. We have our own lingo. Just like you guys, and the Minutemen too."

"It's stupid." Erica said.

"Is it any dumber than pledging allegiance to a flag? A symbol used to crush and oppress others? No. The Red Wings were just a team, a great team, but they stood for something. Success. Hard work. Patience. Perseverance. They never killed anybody or started a war."

"No, but they did play a sport with body checking and fighting."

"Well it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Then it's a sport."

Even Charles laughed at that.

Draper continued. "In the Olympia we found something to live for, something worth emulating. Seeing all those championship banners, those retired jerseys, holovids of classic games, it's impossible not to be awed. When each of us turns 16 we have to pass an initiation. If we pass that initiation we take a name of a player that fits us."

"What if you don't pass the initiation?" Erica asked.

"You're cut from the team. Teams can't have passengers."

"What's the initiation?"

"Top secret." Draper grinned.

"Food's ready."

"We'll take first watch while you guys get some shut eye." Charles volunteered as they ate. He did his best to not sound eager. Erica liked the sound of that; this would give them a chance to escape.

"Thanks." Draper said. "We could use some shut-eye."

"Sounds fishy to me." Lt. Wilson interjected, the female Minuteman.

"Why's that?" Charles challenged.

"I don't feel comfortable with that one watching over me." She looked to Charles.

"Sleep with your rifle if it makes you feel better."

"We need to start trusting each other, working together. That's why we're doing this, right?" Draper began. "Relax. Don't get any sleep if it makes you feel better. You two clowns take second watch and we'll take the last watch." Thus the matter was dropped, though suspicious glances didn't waver.

Night fell and the ad-hoc party began winding down their activities, sliding into bedroll kits, weapons close at hand. A deep, nasal sucking sound was heard as McCarty began loudly snoring. Erica and Charles watched the horizon. They tried not to look back too often towards the sleeping party. They knew Wilson was watching them still, not even pretending to be asleep. Charles and Erica were sure to be out of earshot. They paced in and out of sight of the fire, walking a circuit. They never loitered together for more than a few seconds, not wanting to arouse further suspicion.

"She still watching us?" Charles asked.

"Yep. You wanna just leave? It's been an hour. If she's not asleep now, she'll never sleep."

"I think you're right. "

They set off in opposite directions for several meters before turning back and meeting another again.

"How do we do this?" Erica asked.

"I think we should set off like we normally do. When we get out of sight we both start running."

"I can't run dumbass."

"Sorry. See that old van? We'll set up cover behind there for a few minutes in case anyone comes after us. Then we start heading out."

"To where?"

"You know where."

Erica sighed. "Fine. Let's do this."

They walked off in opposite directions, at a casual pace. They walked a few extra paces when they were out of sight of the garage. They turned to look at another and nodded. They set off, walking towards the overturned van Charles had spotted. Erica walked as fast as she could, but her brace wouldn't allow her to run, and she found herself struggling to walk at a brisk pace. Charles kept on eye on the garage, alert for any activity. He was worried about Erica's lack of speed but there was at least 7 hours of darkness left. They made it to the overturned van. They pressed their backs against it and listened for several minutes, hearing no sound other than the howling wind.

"Let's go." They set off, heading towards Alpha's home. Erica wasn't happy to be heading there but she wasn't in much of a position to object. Where would they go after this? He was a wanted man, a fugitive. With his accent and well-fed and muscled body, he'd stick out. If they were to live together, peacefully, they'd have to set off far away. A place where no one had heard of the Minutemen or PPCLI. The crackle of gunfire pierced the night's silence. Erica felt woozy, a strange numbness in her mid section, she wondered why the ground was rushing towards her before thick blackness overcame her.

Charles went prone on the ground, he crawled behind a tree stump and readied his rifle. He knew where the bullet had come from. He looked towards the refuelling station through the night scope of his rifle. He saw nothing at first. Then he saw a vague silhouette on the roof of the garage. It was one of the Minutemen. A burst of fire sent Charles ducking. The fire landed far from him. He viewed again with his rifle. He could still see the soldier. He aimed, breathed in, breathed out, then pulled the trigger. The figure in his scope was felled with a headshot and fell onto the ground.

Where was the other one? A burst of gunfire hit near the tree stump. He saw the white flash, coming from the van where he and Erica had been only minutes before. He viewed through his scope, he could see the figure's legs. He aimed and fired, hitting the target's right ankle. The soldier fell, Charles could see it was Lt. Wilson and could almost hear her cries of agony. He fired one last time, ending her misery.

He scrambled towards Erica. He placed a hand on her neck and felt her pulse, but it was weak. He tore open her coat, saw no blood. He turned her over and saw the deep red of a bullet wound, it had impacted in the middle of her back. He ripped her shirt and pulled the first aid kit out of his bag. He had to stop the bleeding. If he managed to stop the bleeding, she might live. How many times had he almost gotten her killed?

He applied disinfectant spray over her wound. He grabbed a gauze bandage and applied it to her wound. He then took some duct tape to keep it over the wound. He used a lot of tape to make sure the bandage was applying some pressure. Her pulse was still stable and she was breathing. There wasn't much else he could do for her. She needed a hospital. That's when it hit him. He could take her to him. Maybe Alpha would help. He was the only place within miles that could treat her.

He put his rucksack on, grabbed his rifle and then slung Erica over his shoulder. She wasn't exactly light. Charles started running towards Alpha's home. If he kept a good pace he'd be able to make it in an hour or two, he hoped. He kept running, desperate to save her. More than a few times he stumbled and nearly fell over.

He lost all track of time as he ran, keeping his eyes on the dim lights on the horizon. But the lights kept brightening, filling him with hope and renewing his purpose. Just another mile or so. It was then he heard the loud howling. A single howl answered by a chorus of a dozen. It was coming from behind him and it was very loud. He looked around and saw only flat ground and debris, there was no shelter, no high ground, nowhere to set an ambush. He couldn't fight off wolves. But nor could he ignore the hungry pack behind him. He heard another howl, this one only a few hundred meters behind him. They'd be upon him within seconds.

"I'm sorry, Erica." He said, knowing if she were conscious she'd curse him.

He looked above, wishing to look upon the stars as the last thing he would see. Looking up he saw a sudden beam of glowing, coruscating, multicoloured light. The beam came from the air and pointed behind him. He heard the sound of wolves crying out in pain and panic, fleeing, and the smell of charred flesh. A small shape in the sky came towards him. Charles recognized it, one of Alpha's aircraft.

"Please, help!" He yelled as the craft hovered over him. The craft dipped its wings several times. What was it trying to say? Charles continued to run. He saw something coming towards him, a pair of white lights.

"Well, well, if it isn't private parts?" He knew that voice. It was Captain Ballarms. The hovercraft came into view, heading straight towards him. It veered and slowed down as it neared, its doors opened.

"Hop in. I take it you need some medical assistance. We'll hook you up."

The hovercraft sped towards Alpha's home. Charles held Erica in his arms, monitoring her breathing and pulse. Her jacket was soaked with her blood, hauling her over his shoulder hadn't done much to close the wound. Her pulse and breathing seemed weaker. Ballarms took them into a secret entrance into Alpha's home, though Charles didn't notice it, nor did he notice the construction projects taking place. The doors opened and Charles noticed they were now inside. The air was dry and antiseptic.

"There's an old Med-Bay down the hall on your left. There's an Auto-Doc machine which should heal your friend."

Charles bolted, following the signs. The Med-Bay was similar to the one they'd seen earlier. He went to the Auto-Doc. Pressing a few buttons it opened. He placed her inside. He looked upon her one last time before closing the machine and activating it. The Auto-Doc buzzed and hummed to life.

"Your friend's wound and leg will be cured in a few minutes." Alpha intoned over the PA.

"Thank you. I came to warn you."

"That the forces in this region have declared a truce to temporarily ally against me? I am aware and prepared. We thank you for this gesture. You may be interested to know we have had the first initiates into the world of post-humanism. We are all most happy, even a few individuals create can a multitude of possibilities for procreation."

"I'm happy for you."

"I sense no enthusiasm in your voice."

"It's... not for me. Nor her."

"I see. However, I sense that you are like a child now. Ejected from the womb, your umbilical cord cut off."

"That's true." Charles admitted, the wounds of betrayal still fresh upon his soul.

"You would not find much peace in this wasteland. You will be hunted as fugitives. You have antagonized the three major factions in this area."

Charles nodded. "We're still not interested in your post-humanism."

"I am aware of that." Alpha replied. Charles sense Alpha was about to talk more when the Auto-Doc beeped, like a toaster. Charles turned towards the Auto-Doc. He pushed a buttons and the machine opened its doors. Erica was hunched against the wall. He felt her pulse. It was strong. He reached behind her and could feel no puncture wound. He grabbed her and set her on an examination table. She opened her eyes, there was confusion, almost panic. Her eyes met Charles' and she calmed down.

"What happened?"

"You got shot."

Erica laughed. "How many times is it you've almost gotten me killed?"

"It's the last time. I promise."

"It better be otherwise I'll kick your ass!"

Charles laughed and they kissed another passionately. Her hands sought his and they lovingly held another.

"Where are we?"

"In Alpha's home."

Erica's eyes hardened. "Why did you take me here? I hate this fucking place!"

"There was nowhere else. If I hadn't, we'd both be dead."

"I guess you're right." Erica said.

"Now that you are conscious, I have an offer to make. A different offer." Alpha said.

"What is it?" Charles asked.

"If you two remain here in the wasteland, you will most likely be killed. The other factions will search you out as you are considered fugitives, pawns to be sacrificed for a grander goal. I am offering you a new life. Not as post-humans for I know your antipathy towards this form of existence."

"What do you mean a new life?" Erica asked.

"My family has traveled far and we know much of the world beyond. There is an area northwest of here that was largely untouched by the Great War. The winters are harsh but the soil is fertile, the human population large enough to offer stability and safety. Your pasts would not matter, the remnants of pre-war ideologies have not infected this area. With Captain Ballarms, you'd be able to reach this land in a matter of days. Were you to travel on foot, it would take months and you'd most likely not survive the journey. Captain Ballarms is afflicted with wanderlust and I believe he's grown fond of you. He would be happy to accompany you on this journey."

"What is this place?" Charles asked.

"In Pre-War times it was called Winnipeg. It has been re-christened as The 'Peg. There is electricity, running water, sanitation systems, thriving agriculture, plentiful living space. It is not an Eden by any stretch, but there is peace and prosperity."

"Sounds too good to be true. What's your angle? What do you get from this?"

"I have no ulterior motives. I merely wish to help. Is it not a trait of sentient and sapient life to offer assistance to those in need? You have freed me and my family. Is gratitude not to be expected? Is it not customary to repay a positive deed with another?"

Erica couldn't answer that.

"Do you trust me?" Charles asked her. Erica looked at him, looked into his eyes.

"Yes."

"We can trust him." Erica nodded.

"Thank you, Alpha."

"You are most welcome. I wish you the best on your journey. May your live long and happily and freely."

"You too." Charles answered back.

They walked from the Med-Bay to where Ballarms was waiting for them.

"Hurry up, you hussies! I'm ready for a road trip! How about you?"

They sat together and Ballarms gingerly glided out of Alpha's lair and into the wasteland. They glided away from the bleak wasteland, away from strife and death. The sun's rays were peering above the horizon. They headed towards their new home which held the promise of life. Where there was life, hope was sure to be there.

* * *

_And so it was two unlikely companions rode off together, leaving the Detroit wasteland behind. In the months and years that followed, many joined Alpha's family and he continued to arouse fear and suspicion in many of the Wasteland's inhabitants. Alpha's lack of aggression was noted and so the human factions resumed fighting another, having learned the wrong lessons. Wrong lessons often endure and outlast the correct ones. Because war... war never changes. _

The End


End file.
